Not Invincible
by Kelsey
Summary: After Buffy beats on him when he's only trying to help her 'Dead Things' Spike goes to LA, seeking Angel's help. Final chapter up!
1. Chapter One

* * *

****

Not Invincible

by

Princess McPhee

* * *

Disclaimer: Not mine. Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt aren't me. Not even the right gender. So, therefore, I don't own.

Author's Note: Ideas from just about every Angel or Spike fic on the planet. So, if an idea very closely resembles yours, please don't take offense.

Summary: Spike goes to Angel, after Buffy beats up on him the latest time. AU from there.

Rating: R

* * *

Chapter One

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

****

Los Angeles, 2002

He shows up at my door one night. The man--no, beast, that I hate most in the world. The thing that has tortured me, disrespected me, violated me and hurt me continuously for more than a hundred years.

He's crying.

He's strong, if I can say nothing else good about this one. I don't know why Dru changed him, but sometimes I think she might have sensed the inner strength in him. To most, it must have looked like an accident. The crazy vampire grabbed the first young man who took her fancy in the street. But it wasn't like that.

After he was turned, Dru brought him home. Then she went off to play with her dolls, and left him with me and Darla. She couldn't take care of a fledgling. She wanted her 'puppy' back only when he was housebroken, when he knew the ropes. And it was up to me to train him.

Darla, of course, wanted nothing to do with him. She wasn't horribly fond of Dru, but the crazy thing grew on her over the course of the years, and by this time, though she might upset her or be careless with her feelings, she wouldn't have openly rejected her choice of childer. But that didn't mean she wasn't all for throwing the newly changed William out in the sun and saying it was an accident. That he didn't know better.

A little-known thing about vampires is that when we rise, we don't actually know to stay away from the sun. It isn't instinctive, as some make it out to be. We rise at night because our bodies know to, but if an older vampire doesn't explain the ropes to the fledgling, they may inadvertently stay up to greet the sun. Most don't, simply because they feed and fall asleep, and every creature looks for shelter before they lay down and become vulnerable.

Drusilla was incorrigible for long weeks after I first changed her. As a human, she had loved the sun, and as a vampire, she wasn't sane enough to realize what it would do to her, no matter how many times I patiently explained it to her, and Darla attempted to bodily knock it into her. She would stare at the boarded up windows and weep, little, childish sounds of sorrow, and no one could console her. She eventually got over it, but I was on fledgling-watch for an awful long time then. Darla never once relieved me, so I didn't sleep for nearly three weeks.

Eventually I boarded my crazy childe into a room and took a twenty-hour nap and a huge feed. I felt better after that, and Dru, it seemed, had finally learned her lesson.

Spike, too, was a hard one to convince. Not, it seemed, because he lacked to brain power to do so, but just because from the moment he was raised, he never once wanted to believe anything an older, wiser person would say to him. He would listen to Drusilla, of course. Since she was crazy, and after all, obviously the only credible source of information around. And then, anytime time Darla would casually chastise him or I would try to teach him something, he had to try it out himself, and make sure we were telling the truth. I know he only did it to spite us.

It only took one hand out in the sun to make him believe me that time. But I still can't believe he did that, sometimes. I have never once in my life or unlife met a vampire who, after being told it would burn if he did, still put a limb out into direct sunlight, on purpose, nonetheless.

But that's Spike for you.

So, since Dru was pretty much uninterested in her 'baby', except when it came to coddling him and getting anything she wanted from him, it fell on my shoulders to housebreak the stubbornest vampire ever to set foot on the planet.

He gave me hell for several weeks. By that time, I'd shown him how to feed, how to will the change, to stay away from holy water, crosses, and what would kill him. He liked to irritate me, and Drusilla still wanted nothing to do with him during the better part of the day. So, he became my shadow.

The day he walked brashly in on Darla and I having sex was the end of that little arrangement. Not that I actually cared he'd walked in on us, but that he hadn't become submissive and left the room with his head bowed. That he hadn't been a good little vampire. Instead, he'd smirked, pushed his glasses up on his nose, and cocked his head to watch us better.

I'd thrown him out the door. Just pushed him away, and told him that if he came back in a week, not dust, I'd let him in again. He'd shrugged, told me it would be a piece of cake, and wandered off into the night.

Three days later, I'd ended up rescuing him from a gang of vampires about Darla's age. He'd been, as usual, impertinent, and they'd decided to teach him a lesson. I'd heard his cursing a block away, and had wandered toward where they were, but I was in no particular hurry. Even once I'd gotten there, I had only stood and watched for long moments. But when they pulled out the wood, I'd intervened, if for no other reason than because Drusilla would have been terribly upset.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

****

France, 1881

"Hello."

The vampires looked up. Two in game face, one not. Obviously the oldest, and the one who seemed to be the leader of this pack. It took a while to place him, but then I remember. "Krup."

He'd looked me over, not recognizing me. It wasn't a surprise. I'd met him only a few years after Darla turned me, and she'd introduced me only briefly, and then, only as 'my new project'. But eventually, he seemed to remember, and it clicked. "You... you're Darla's pet project!"

I nodded, smirking a little, not altogether happy with being called that, but not willing to pick a fight over it, especially not with these three. "Angelus."

He nods, and the other two, who are by his sides, copy him. "Good to see you. Is Darla around?"

I nod. "She's hunting. Shouldn't be too far from here."

He grins, and slaps his leg. Big, barrel-ish vampire, Krup was, Russian-bear-thing, even in life. He looks good-natured, like a gentle giant, but I knew better. "Great! I'd like to see her."

I smile thinly. "Shall we go to her?"

He nods. "Come on, boys." They follow him, but one of them taps his arm.

"What should we do with him?" He asks, pointing at Spike, who, at the time, was still William.

Krup looks back at him. "Kill it."

The vampire goes back to do his dirty work.

I don't speak too fast, don't show too much interest. I know that Spike, only a few months old, will never survive this other vampire's attack, even though I sense he is but a few years old himself. A vampire's strength increases dramatically in the first few years, and then at a steady pace as he gets older. In theory, a four or five thousand year-old vampire should be able to do anything they please, simply out of sheer power. "May I have him?" I ask politely.

Krup looks surprised. "You know him?"  
I nod, sparing a disdainful glance for the batter fledgling. Krup does too, his fare more venomous than mine. 

"Is this true, filth?" 

Spike nods reluctantly. "He's my bloody grandsire." Then he adds, muttering under his breath. "And damn well too bad, too." Krup and I both pretend not to hear.

"Where's his sire?" The big Russian vampire asks.

I shrug. "Dru's not really..."

"Sane?" Pipes up Spike, helpfully.

I look at Krup, and shrug. "He's right."

"Who takes responsibility for this fledgling's actions, then?"

I sigh, a sound of the long-suffering. And goodness knows I am, as is any creature who has ever spent even a moment's time in Spike's insufferable company. "I do."

Krup looks at me for a long moment, and I wonder if I'm about to get myself into a fight. But then he chuckles, and starts back off down the street, waving the vampire with the stake to come with him. "Come, Angelus! We don't want to keep Darla waiting."

I nod, and follow him, my concern for Spike once again gone. I hear his struggle to his feet behind us, and then before us, Dru rounds the corner, swaying to music only she can hear. "Daddy!" She cries, and runs towards me. 

I smile. "Hello, baby. Did you have fun?"

She nods and a goofy grin spreads across her face. "I met a little boy. He tasted delicious!"

I grin at her, and then throw my thumb over my shoulder. "Why don't you go check on William, darling? I think he got himself into some trouble."

She nods, and starts to saunter off down the street in the general direction of where I left Spike. Krup and I continue off to find Darla.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

****

Los Angeles, 2002

And now, here he stands, that insolent childe who was always getting himself into trouble, on my doorstep. He's sopping wet, his hair and face dripping, his stance downcast and his eyes refusing to meet mine. It's still day, and it's good it's cloudy outside, because I don't think he would have noticed if it wasn't.

"What are you doing here?" My initial reaction is to be much harsher. After all, he's done unspeakable things to me. But he's also my childe, in more senses than one. My blood does flow through Drusilla's veins, and as such, through his, too. But more than that, he is my childe because it is I who raised him. I who tried, time and again to make him into a proper vampire, but he never would cooperate. That was always what Spike was worst at. Throw anything else at him, and he could get it done, but if it involved sharing, cooperating, anything to do with other people, he couldn't manage it.

He doesn't raise his head. "Nowhere else to go." There's no insult thrown in with this statement. Now I know he is suffering. 

Against my better judgment, I open the door wider and step aside. "Come in, Spike."

A little of the old spark returns to his eyes. "You don't have to invite me in, anymore, remember? Vampire's place of residence, yada yada yada?"

I smile a little, strangely glad to see him behaving more like himself. "I remember. But Fred and Conner live here too, now."

He nods listlessly. "'Spose so."

Pulling a towel from under the front desk, after all, Wesley, Gunn and I often come in covered in goop or at best, water, I throw it at him. "Dry off, Spike. Then sit, and tell me why you're here."

He complies. I don't know which surprises me more, the fact that he listened to me for once and did as I told him to without questioning it, or the fact that he's just ripped off his beloved leather duster and thrown it on the ground, kicking it away like it's contaminated or something. I don't comment.

When he's done, he sits down on the couch. I wonder if we should go somewhere else, but then I remember that no one is here except me and Conner. I think Lorne's at Caritas. I don't know where Cordy and Wesley are. Fred and Gunn went out to dinner, tacos I think. They were strangely excited about it. I didn't ask about that either.

We're silent for a long while. Then Spike speaks. "Has anyone told you how sodding suffocating it's gettin in ol' Sunnyhell?"

I shake my head, and wait for him to continue.

He does, slowly. "Me and the Slayer, we had kind of a thing." My hackles immediately rise, but I hear him out. He continues. "I loved her. Maybe I still do, don't know. Anyway, she comes back, and doesn't know what to do. So she turns to me. And it's all incredibly bloody complicated, but somehow we ended up fuckbuddies."

I feel as if my heart is being ripped from my chest. I remind myself that I left Buffy behind a long time ago, but it doesn't make the hurt go away. Then I feel a surge of anger, because it's Spike we're talking about, and I left her so that she could have better than that. But one look into Spike's eyes, and I can see he knows that. There's no use in telling him, he's had it drilled into him too many times already, I can see.

"Anyway, these crazy science nerd-types who've decided to become real pains in the ass came to visit us and left us a real nice welcome card. Some girl. Only thing is, she's dead, and they set it up so that Buffy would think she killed the poor thing."

My head is spinning and my chest is tight. God, that must have torn Buffy apart. I'm about to open my mouth to ask when Spike speaks again. "Yeah, she took it really hard. Was goin' to the police, tryin' to turn herself in. I tried to stop her, but she beat me up pretty bad."

Now that I look, I can see the split lip line that mars one side of Spike's lip. A bruise is slowly forming over his eye. His hair is unusually tousled, though initially I thought that was because of the rain. It's not, though. I know that look. He was in a pretty good fight.

He continues, heedless of what's going through my head. "She called me some stuff. All things I've heard before, nothing more than usual. But this time, it just sunk in, you know? I mean, I know she deserves someone better than me. You know that. Hell, everyone knows that. I've always taken the punches before, never thought about it, really."

He pauses, and looks away. "But last night, when I thought I was going to lose her, I started thinking about us. About what we had. About how worthless I am, and how useless I really am to the Sunnydale crew." He laughs bitterly. 

"I thought about doin' it myself, you know. Just get up and greet the sunrise. After all, nobody needs me anymore, do they? Buffy doesn't even like me. The little Bit's got her sis back, and the witches, too. Xander and Anya are gettin' married. But I couldn't do it. 'Cause I'm too much of a soddin' coward. How' you like that, huh Peaches? You raised such a sissy he can't even properly kill himself."

Spike stands, surprising me. He turns to face me, pulls something out of his jeans pocket and tosses it to me. I catch it. A stake. 

He spreads his arms and closes his eyes. "So, I'm here. Figured, I'm your bloody son, for all intents and purposes. Might as well let you pass judgment on me. Do whatever you like. Stake me, I don't care. It might even be a relief." He seems to have come to peace with it, and just stands there, a blank expression on his face.

There's a long moment of silence, and then I put the stake down softly, and walk up to him. Raising a hand, I caress his face softly. His eyes open, but his body doesn't move. He looks at me, his eyes so full of pain, and I pull his arms into his body, and then wrap myself around him. He's so much smaller than I am. His body is slight, and mine is so large. I can practically cover him with only my flesh.

He turns his head and buries it in my shoulder. Then his shoulders start to wrack with sobs, and he cries silently for a long few moments before he speaks again. 

"God!" His voice is muffled. "I just wanted to die! But even you won't kill me. No one will kill me. I won't even kill me. It's just pathetic."

I rub his back as if he's a child, and hold him tight for a while longer.

When his sobs dry and he tries to pull away, I hold him even tighter. I wipe his eyes with my thumb, and take his hands and walk him upstairs. He wrenches his hands from my grasp, his last shred of dignity fighting, but he follows me.

I take him to an empty room. I sit him on the bed, check his pockets, in which I find two other stakes and a bottle of holy water, and leave him to go get some clothes. I find a few things in my room that are too small, they'll still be too big for Spike, but they'll do. When I return, he's still sitting on the bed in exactly the same position I put him there in. 

"Spike?" No answer.

I walk to him, and start pulling off his shirt. That gets an answer. Again, he wrenches away from me, but he disrobes while I walk away to turn on the shower. "Warm up," I tell him. He doesn't argue like he usually would about vampire's not needing to be warm, but goes willingly. I leave the clothes in his room, and rifle quickly through the drawers, making sure I'm not leaving anything that he could use.

God, I'm on suicide-watch for a vampire? What the hell happened to me?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I give him to time to emerge after the shower goes off. When he doesn't, I wander in to check on him, and find him completely asleep on the bed, his too-big clothes rumpled around his slight form. I watch him sleep for a moment before go to his side, press a soft kiss to his forehead, and then retreat.

He sleeps all morning. When I turn in, about noon, he's still asleep. His room connects to a bathroom and I've left him instructions to call my room if he wakes up needing something, so I lock the door from the outside. I don't know why some of the doors do that, but it's a handy trick. I know he'll be able to get past it if he really wants to, but then again, I don't think anything could stop Spike if he really wants something. It's meant as more of a deterrent than anything.

The phone rings around seven. I pick it up, but Spike hangs up. Going downstairs, I warm him blood and take it to him in a mug. Conner is gone, and there's a note from Cordy, which explains the amount of sleep I got. Let me tell you, I love my son, but he's not really into the 'sleeping-for-more-than-six-hours-at-a-stretch' thing. Luckily she didn't notice Spike, or else I'm sure she wouldn't much care that I'd been sleeping, either.

I carry two mugs upstairs. When I pull out a key and unlock his door, I walk in to find Spike sitting on the edge of the bed, not moving a muscle, just posed as if he was stone. "Hello," I greet him softly, thinking I'll get _some_ kind of response.

Nothing.

I sit down next to him and give him the mug of warm blood. He takes it, but makes no other move. Sipping it slowly, rather than downing it in a gulp like he usually does, he makes no effort to communicate. His hair is tousled, something I haven't seen in a hundred years. There are shadows under his eyes, and he looks... defeated.

He looks like a man who doesn't care about his life anymore, and somehow, it scares me much more than I think it should.

I know I've worn this face a million times in the past hundred and a few years, know that there have been periods of time, _long _periods of time when I didn't care if I lived or died. But never. Never have I seen this look in Spike's eyes. 

Spike has always been so full of sparkly life that it was almost sickening. Back in our vampire days, it got us into infinite trouble. It caused more fights between us than I can count, not to mention Dru and Darla. It comes through really strong when he's really happy or really pissed, it fades a little when something happens, like Dru leaving him. From her odd description of his behavior, I'd say it faded a bit when I left the pack, too. 

But I've never seen it gone. Now, there's nothing in his silver-blue eyes. Nothing but empty expanses, like he's given up on everything, like he thinks he's seen all the world can show him.

And in a way, it's true. I'm older than Spike, by about a hundred and twenty years, but I took a ninety-five year break. And I got my soul back. Spike has been the same vampire for a hundred and thirty years. He's seen a lot. Vampires are unnatural creatures, and though most deny it or sublimate it to the point they forget their inferiority, every once in a while, along comes a smart one, like my grandchilde. 

I think that Spike's time with the humans of Sunnydale has changed his attitude, and re-harnessed his ability to see the supernatural as other than normal. 

I think that Spike has discovered, for the first time, how repulsive we are, as a species.

I put an arm over his shoulder, and he lets me. "Will," I start.

He shakes me off with a little snarl. "I'm not bloody William, Angelus! Haven't been for a century!"

My demon and human sides are really battling over this one. Childer are NOT supposed to snarl at their sires. But he's acting more like himself, and that makes the man I've become happy, for some odd reason. I start again.

"_Spike_, I know you and I, we aren't in the same situation, but still, I feel what you're going through. It's hard to wake up one morning and realize that we are creatures of the night, that we're the monsters every little child fears."

He snorts, and interjects softly. "I _liked_ being that monster, mate." He didn't, though. Even when I ran with them, William was a soft-hearted thing. Sure, he had an annoying tendency to be... well, impertinent, and that was probably a big part of it, but he never reached the heights of evil a lot of vampires can. I have never seen William torture anyone, and Spike didn't like it, last year. I saw it in his eyes. Still, I let him have his delusion.

"Alright. So you liked it. Then what?"

He doesn't bother looking at me when he responds. "What what, Peaches?"

Goddamn him, I hate it when he calls me that.

He laughs bitterly. "I know what you're thinking, _Angel_. And I think God already damned me. Several times over."

How does he do that? All these years later, and he still knows what I'm thinking. Can still tell what I'm going to say before I ever say it. I do my best to ignore him, and ask my question again. "What's so wrong, then, that you'd come to me?"

He doesn't have an answer for that.

We sit there for a long time. Then, I head downstairs, check the message machine. Wait for Wesley to come to work. Vampires hours, you know. At least, that's his excuse. In reality, I'm not actually that blind. I know he's working because of Fred and Gunn. But he's lucky. A bruised rib heals faster than a broken one. I should know.

So does a heart.

Unless, of course, the heart isn't metaphoric, in which case, good luck surviving with a broken one. Yet another reason to get it bruised and not broken.

I leave Spike's door unlocked, and he comes downstairs about an hour later to plop himself like a big lump of vampire on my couch, his boots on the cushions, and watch some horrible old soap opera re-runs. I don't say anything.

When he lights his cigarette and starts puffing on it, though, I pluck it from his grasp and put it out. "Hey!" He says. "It's not like I'm gonna get lung cancer or something, you bloody poof!"

I explain calmly. "I don't care if you smoke, Spike. But my child lives here, and he will grow up without second-hand smoke wrecking his lungs." I pull him up and shove him towards the door. "Smoke outside. It's dark."

Impertinently, he plops back down on the couch and shoves his cigarette pack away. "Don't need to smoke. Just wanted to." With that, he goes back to watching TV, and I go back to leaving him alone.

Wesley arrives at eight-thirty, and walks right into his office, not looking anywhere or at anything. He's getting better, he just has his nose in a book today. He can be awfully hard to reach when he's reading something.

Cordelia wanders in about nine-fifteen, half an hour past Conner's bedtime. She swears that he can't _possibly_ need a bedtime, considering the fact that he doesn't even have a fully defined _night_, what with his dad being a vampire and all, but it says in the baby books that a schedule is very important, and since he may be the only good thing I ever do with my sorry existence, I'm going to do it right.

"You're late," I tell her without looking up from the case file I have my own nose in.

She shrugs impertinently. "We were shopping."

I look her up and down. "For what?"

"For Conner, of course!" She pulls my son from his blanket, and he looks at me sleepily, content just to be in Cordy's arms. And there he is, in a pair of miniature jeans, baby boots, and a fake leather duster. I don't even want to know where she found that, or how much she spent on it.

She watches me, waiting for a reaction. "Well? Don't you like it? It's Angel, and mini-Angel!"

I smile wryly. "Thanks, Cordy, but if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer my son doesn't grow up to be a miniature version of me."

She shrugs. "That's all right. I'd prefer that he not be a demon and all, too. But he can still inherit your fashion sense. Even if you do wear nothing but black for long periods of time, it's generally pretty good."

I nod, not quite sure what she means, completely sure that I don't care, and reach out for my son. Just then Gunn and Fred walk in the door, laughing, and Spike comes from the living room to see what all the commotion's about.

All hell breaks loose.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Within seconds Gunn has Fred behind his back and a stake in his hand, fighting stance ready. Wesley comes running from his office, skidding a little on the hardwood floors and grabbing a battle-ax as he comes to a stop before even looking at the evil we're 'fighting'. I guess he heard Cordelia scream.

Conner did too. He's crying in my arms, his own lungs very well developed, apparently. I rub his back, and hold out a hand to the crew. "Guys," I say. They don't even bother too look at me, their eyes too glued to the sight of Spike, lounging around my hotel in my clothes, not looking the least concerned with the two fighters facing him. Not only that, but he's smoking. 

"Guys!"

Finally, they look up at me. "It's okay." I explain.

Wesley's eyes keep darting back and forth from Spike to me and back. Gunn is looking at me, giving me his full attention, but clearly has Spike pegged in his peripheral vision. He has a firm hand on Fred, keeping her behind his bulk. She's peering around his shoulder, clearly more curious than afraid.

Cordelia looks at me like I'm crazy. "It's Spike." She says that like it explains everything. I suppose, to her, it does. She's only ever seen Spike as an evil thing to be destroyed.

Whereas I, in contrast, have seen Spike as everything from a cherished childe to an annoying, blood-sucking immortal pain in the ass, his torture of me days rating higher on the scale than it goes.

But honestly, though I harbor resentment towards him, he's my childe, and I love him. How could I not? At the very least, I don't hate him. And on a good day, I might even be able to stand him.

No one is any closer to being convinced. I look at my childe, staring pointedly at the cigarette, and motion towards the den where he came from. "William, a moment?" He doesn't comment about the name, merely retreats.

I remember a moment later, just as he's closing the door behind him. "Will?"

He sticks his head out, cigarette between his lips. "Yeah?" He asks, kind of mumbled by the stick of tar.

"Put the cigarette out."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I motion the guys closer, and they gather around. I lead them into Wesley's office, knowing full-well about vampire hearing. When I can no longer hear Spike mumbling to himself and cursing me, I stop and turn back to my associates, who are far from happy.

"What the hell is that about?" Cordelia asks.

Wesley nods. "I must agree, Angel. If there is an explanation for Spike being here, I can't imagine what."

I sigh. "Look, guys. He's been hanging out with the Sunnydale gang for a while now. When Buffy came back, apparently she was clingy, looking for someone to hang on to. That was Spike. But she's been using him, and abusing his love. He may not look it, but he's incredibly broken-up."

They stare at me incredulously. Fred is the first to speak. She raises her hand a little as she does so. "Um, I hate to be in the dark like this and all, but who is he?"

Gunn turns to her. "He's a vampire. A particularly nasty vampire, whom our own resident vampire sired about a hundred-twenty years ago." He looks to me. "That right?"

I'm forced to nod reluctantly. "Yes. Except that about three years ago, he was caught by a military force and chipped. He can't inflict pain on a human anymore. So, he's been hanging out with Buffy's group, helping to kill demons. He fell in love with her. And then all this happened."

Wesley broke in. "Wait. He fell in love with her? How is that possible?"

I shrug. "He's a vampire. That doesn't mean he can't love."

Gunn looks at me incredulously. "It don't?"

I sigh. I can see I'm in for a vamp history here. "Newly-turned vampires are extremely loyal to their masters. You know that, right?" When they all nod, I continue, rocking Conner in my arms as I do so.

"Well, it isn't exactly love, but it's close enough. As the vampire gets older, the bloodlust tames a bit and his thoughts and feelings become a little less primal, a bit like a child growing up. That's when he learns to love."  
I sigh, not really wanting to get into my past, but not seeing a way around it.

"Some of them, only really end up feeling anything for their sires or childer, and it's pretty much out of their control. Some can extend it to anyone they get close to, like a human. Spike's one of those."

"So he fell in love with Buffy?" Wesley inquires. I wish he'd quit asking questions that were already answered. Especially when those questions are about my ex and my childe sleeping together.

"Yes. For a long time, it was one-sided. Then, when Buffy came back from the dead and began to cling to him, it became a little more mutual. But she was using him, and she beat him up."

Cordy gasped a little. "Buffy did that to him?"

I nod.

Gunn looks at me, ever suspicious. "How do you know he's not lying?" He asks.

I shrug. "I don't. But he was incredibly broken up when he came here. He asked me to stake him."

Cordelia, usual tact showing looks at me. "And you didn't?"

"Cordy, he's my childe. I may not like him much most of the time, but I'll always love him. I created him."

Cordy mumbles something under her breath that I'm sure I don't want to hear.

"Any other questions?" I ask, looking around the room, most of who's occupants look shocked into silence. "Good."

"Actually, I do have one," Wesley says. 

"What?"

"What are you doing with him?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, why is he still here, and how long is he staying?"

I meet Wes's gaze head-on. He may be the boss of Angel Investigations now, but this is my hotel, and Spike is my childe as much as Conner is. Granted, he's mixed up with a lot of other feelings, but that one of possession isn't going away. "He's staying as long as I feel he needs to."

"Not as long as _he_ wants to?"

I hold his gaze still. "No. He's suicidal, and he's not going anywhere until I feel like letting him go."

Gunn coughs in the back, and mumbles something like, 'and why don't I care?' under his breath sarcastically. I ignore him. 

"Any problems, come to me. I know you all have other places to stay if you need to, so if you're really too uncomfortable, you don't need to come to the hotel until he leaves."

They all look at me like I'm crazy, but at least I'm the crazy who was listened to, now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I go back to see Spike as the group disperses into the hotel. Wesley tucks a spray-bottle of holy water into his waistband, in plain view of everyone. Cordelia glares at me, but doesn't say anything. Gunn shoves stakes into every conceivable location on his clothes, and gives Fred a bottle of holy water. Lorne isn't back from Caritas yet, but when he is, he won't care.

Holding Conner, I walk into the room. Spike doesn't look up, but at least he's put out the cigarette. I have no clue what he's watching, and I don't want to know, but I put a mug of blood by his hand on the table, and stand around to watch him try and ignore me for a while.

Conner whines. Spike turns, and clicks off the television when he sees him. "Hey! Is this the little bugger?"

I nod. Spike picks himself up from the couch and comes to stand in front of me. He touches Conner's forehead, and looks at him with affection. "I never got to see the Niblet this small," He says, a bit wistfully. "They're awfully cute."

"Who?"

"The Niblet. Little Bit, Bitty Buffy. Dawn."

"Oh."

He looks a little sad. "I'm going to miss her."  
"Dawn?"

"Yeah. She's th' only real friend I got in Sunnyhell, anymore."

Interesting. I didn't know that Spike was close to Dawn. "How much time do you spend with her?" I ask, curious to see how much Spike has intricated his life with the Sunnydale crew.

His eyes look distant for a second, then he snaps back. "Not much, anymore."

"What about... before?"  
He doesn't answer for a moment. Then, "Every minute of every day."

I must have looked surprised. I certainly wasn't expecting that answer. Spike explains himself a little. 

"The witches moved into the Slayer's house, but Dawn didn't want anything to do with them. She snuck out so many times that I finally let her stay with me. We went out, rode around on my bike at night, played poker with some old friends. Eventually, the Scoobs said we must be held together by superglue, she was so hard to pry away from my side." Pause.

"I didn't exactly try to stay away from her, either."

Definitely interesting. So it was Spike, and not Willow and Tara who had watched Dawn all summer. 

On an impulse, I hold Conner out. He looks at Spike sleepily, then yawns, clenches his tiny fists, and goes back to sleep. Spike looks at me incredulously. "You're going to let me hold the kid?"

I nod, and pass him Conner. Spike takes my son carefully, gently, holding him just right. He looks down on the baby with pure affection. "I guess this little fellow's sort of like my brother, huh, Angelus?"

I nod. I hadn't really thought of it that way before, but now that I think about it, Spike's right. He and Conner are both my children, in different ways, and I guess that makes them 'sort of' brothers.

"Can we pretend he's my nephew, though?" Spike asks. "Cause I'm a Master vampire, and he's like, babbling in a crib."

I smile. Only Spike can put things that way, and still keep in my good graces. "Sure."

Spike coos at Conner, and I must say, I think that is the strangest sound I have ever heard. My hundred-twenty year-old childe making baby sounds at my four-month-old son. "Hey, Conner," He says in that baby-talk voice. "I'm your uncle Spike."

Conner opens his eyes and stares up at Spike, not saying anything or complaining, just watching. Spike smiles at him, and Conner starts to wail. 

Spike looks up at me, trying to hide his concern. "What, he doesn't like me?"

I smile a little. "No, sometimes he just gets that way. He's a baby."

But my son won't shut up, and I know what to do. I don't take him back, even as Spike tries to hand him back to me. "Vamp out," I tell him.

"What?!"

"You heard me. He likes it."

Spike shakes his head. "Disturbed kid you spawned, Angelus." Then he shakes his head once, violently, and his demon visage takes the place of his sharp features. Conner quiets immediately, and even starts to giggle a little, funny gurgling baby sounds coming from his throat.

Spike hands him back to me, and shakes off his demon face. "I think that's all I can handle of your crazy kid tonight, Peaches."

I nod. "I'm going to put him to sleep. I'll be back in a little while."

"Don't bother. I'm going out."

I catch his eye with mine, unaware that Cordelia is watching from the doorway. "No, you're not."

Spike starts to bluster. "Bloody hell, Angelus! You might have been my sire once upon a time, but you're not my master!"

I shake my head, deadly serious. "You're my childe. I feel you are in danger of injuring yourself. Therefore, I'm exercising my right, as your sire, to tell you what to do and what not to do."

Spike starts getting really prickly now. His tone, instead of being angry, is white-hot. "I'm a Master vampire, Angelus."

I nod. "And as such, you don't have to take orders from anyone." Pause. "Except your sire."

"You're not even my sire!"

"Close enough."

"Dru sired me! How does that equal you being my sire? I can't remember anything about having to obey my grandsire!"

I'm getting a little pissed. "I raised you, boy, and you know as well as I do what that means."

"That I was bloody unlucky?"

I step up to him, but he doesn't back down. We're only inches away from each other when Cordelia intervenes. 

"Uh, I hate to break up this male posturing thing, but I'm going to take the baby before he gets squashed, and then you can continue."

I step reluctantly back from Spike, and hand Conner to Cordelia. "Thanks," I tell her softly.

"No problem," She replies equally softly, and retreats.

I look hard at my childe, and he looks back defiantly. "You're not going anywhere, boy, and that's that." I stalk out of the room, and Spike throws himself angrily back on the couch, turning up some television show to full blast, knowing full well that it's incredibly annoying to my ears.

Without turning around, I yell at him. "Turn that down!"

"Fuck you!"

* * *

Back to _A Little Part of the Buffiverse_

Back to _A Little Part of the Buffiverse_ Fanfic


	2. Chapter Two

* * *

****

Not Invincible

by

Princess McPhee

* * *

Disclaimer: Not mine. Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt aren't me. Not even the right gender. So, therefore, I don't own.

Author's Note: Ideas from just about every Angel or Spike fic on the planet. So, if an idea very closely resembles yours, please don't take offense.

Summary: Spike goes to Angel, after Buffy beats up on him the latest time. AU from there.

Rating: R

* * *

Chapter Two

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, I awake and go get Conner out of bed at about six. He's gurgling and cooing, clearly happy to be up and about, part of the world. I feed him his bottle and then wander downstairs, wondering if Spike heeded my 'advice'. 

He's crashed out on the couch, snoring softly, his head bent backwards at an unnatural angle over the lip of the sofa. He doesn't stir when we walk in.

I was talking a gamble last night. I didn't think he'd go anywhere, because he was so exhausted. His posturing about going out was just to see where he stood. How much I would tolerate before I put him in his place. I can't say I blame him, getting used to me with a soul must be a lot like having a completely new sire. Certainly we're working with a new set of rules.

"Will," I whisper. Conner gurgles and giggles a little. Spike doesn't move a muscle.

"William." A little louder. He groans, picks up his head and puts it down again at a different angle, all while still asleep.

"Spike!"

Finally, he sits up and rubs his hand across his face, blinking. "Huh?"

"Good morning."

Getting his bearings quickly, he looks around. He snorts at my greeting, and then stretches. "Hah."

"What?"

"'Good morning' to you too, sire."

I ignore him. Spike's just in a mood. He gets those like most of us get the urge to move. He's always been like this. Can't say I've ever met another creature capable of changing his moods more quickly than Will.

Dumping Conner in Spike's lap, I head off towards the kitchen. Spike doesn't take too kindly to this, though I know he's treating my son alright because Conner's happy baby-talk hasn't ceased. "Hey! I'm a bloody guest, Angelus!"

"You're a guest, not an imbecile. Watch the baby while I make breakfast. I won't be long."  
Making scrambled eggs for Cordy and Wesley, I add a little more than usual, knowing that Spike has an odd penchant for human food. Vampires don't have taste buds, my ass. That one does. Why the hell else would he shovel down food the way he does? Spike eats like an adolescent boy.

Then I heat two mugs of blood in the microwave, putting a little water in a separate cup. I figured out that you can't microwave the actual baby cereal, it gets too hot, but if you make the baby cereal (it's instant) with hot water, then it ends up kind of warm, which is okay.

Gunn and Fred come through the doors about ten minutes into my cooking, and contribute a box of donuts. Gunn keeps sending annoyed looks towards the den, but Fred seems determined to keep a leash on him, and sends equally annoyed warning looks at him whenever he does so. Neither of them says anything other than good-morning.

Wesley doesn't come. I don't think he's being rude, he was just up late last night. I wasn't really expecting him. Cordy wanders through the door right after I've served everyone, a cup of coffee in her hand, bleary-eyed. She doesn't say a word, just grabs a donut and sits down at Wes's desk.

I scrape scrambled eggs onto a plate for Spike, one for Fred, and look at Gunn questioningly. He shakes his head and bites into another donut. Honestly, it's been a long time since I've had to worry about keeping a figure, but I have no idea how the man does it on a diet of donuts and tacos. Sometimes it seems like that's all he eats.

Cordelia doesn't even meet my gaze. I hand the last plate to Gunn anyway. "Eat something other than donuts for breakfast, I don't want you to fall over from a suger-low when you're at my back," I tell him. 

He cracks a small smile. "Wouldn't want that." Then he grabs a fork and inhales his eggs. Literally. Or at least, that's what it seems like.

Putting a fork on the two remaining plates, I give one to Fred, who nods her thanks, and put the other down on the counter. Just as I'm stirring Conner's baby cereal together, adding just the right amount of hot and cold water to make it appealing, though how the gloppy mess of white goo could ever be appealing is beyond me, Spike calls.

Well, 'calls' might be putting it a bit too politely.

"Peaches, I can smell those eggs and you bloody well better be making some for me!"

That's my childe for you.

Putting a baby spoon in Conner's bowl, grabbing a bottle and balancing everything precariously, I head back to my two children/childer. Whatever you want to call them. They act alike, they must be brothers. Though where they got their temperaments, I'll never know. Not from me.

Spike looks up when I enter the room. "Well, it's just about bloody time, Angelus. I can smell those eggs as well as you can, you know. And I, unlike your stuffy-ass self, know what they taste like. If you're going to torture me, might I suggest burning pokers? It would be easier on a fellow."

I take my son from Spike, and make a face at him. Conner giggles. "That's a little dramatic, William. Besides, you like hot pokers."

"Not on me, you pillok!"

I shrug. "Can't help meself if ay can't remember all the instruments of torment ye like to employ, can ay?"

"Oh, lose the accent, Angelus. We both know it hasn't been real for a couple of centuries."

I smile. "What does that say about yours then, _William_?"

Spike looks offended. I plop Conner in the baby swing in the corner of the room, and try to feed him baby cereal. As usual, I get more on him than in his mouth, but that's too be expected.

"_My_ accent is real, you sodding wanker! I lived in England for ninety-nine percent of my unlife until Sunnyhell came along! Whereas you, you insisted on gallivanting all around the world and making a mess of it."

"You were a part of that mess, as I recall."

"That's besides the point."

There's blissful silence in the room for only a few moments. Conner gurgles and coughs once, then he laughs when he takes a pudgy baby hand and smears cereal all over his front. 

"You like fingerpainting, kid?" Spike asks.

"He's a little young for paint, Spike."

"Nobody's too young for some fun fingerpaint, are they, Conner? Besides, I bet your daddy's nice pristine room would look real good if you and I got into it, wouldn't it?"

I turn to my childe and growl warningly. "I don't find that amusing, William."

He shrugs casually. "You never do. If that stick up your ass weren't embedded so deep I'd try to pull it out, but- oh, who am I kidding? You're much more fun this way, Peaches. You get annoyed so much easier, and the punishments are so much less severe."

I flash my amber eyes and hulking vampire brow. "I'll show you severe if you disobey me, boy."  
Spike laughs. He _laughs_. (Looking back, I guess it is rather amusing, considering all the things that Angelus did with his spare time or when he was bored that I find absolutely revolting. But let me tell you, that was not what was going through my head at that moment.)

I'm thinking about the thousand and one ways that I know in which to cause Spike the maximum amount of agony without dusting him. Believe me, something like that isn't gained in a century. I _worked_ to learn those skills, and I'm going to _use_ them if my childe doesn't shape up.

Or so I would like to think, before my occasionally pesky soul cuts in.

Still, I stare him down and don't let him know anything's changed. "Hasn't anyone ever taught you it's not nice to laugh at your elders, William?"

He stays right where he is, looking like another couch pillow the way he's draped over everything. "Yeah? So what? I was never much for the rules, _Angel_."

I snort in disgust at him and pick up Conner. Collecting the baby cereal and wiping up the mess as much as possible, I stand and head for the door. Just before I get there, I turn to face Spike.

"Will?"

"_What?_"

I give him a chilling smile, the one I can still summon on command, thanks to Angelus, stuck in his little soul-prison though he may be. "I am your elder, and I will do as I please with you."

Spike snorts. "Yeah, right."

But I saw the glint of uncertainty in his eyes. He will toe the line, for now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Life goes on for the next few days, same as it always does. Well, it goes on for Conner, Fred, Gunn and Wesley. I think it goes on for Cordelia, too, though I'm not entirely certain what kind of demon she is. And unlife goes on, blissfully peacefully, for me and Spike.

Until now.

It's five am, and Spike is blasting rock music in my living room. Luckily, my son is both human with human hearing, and a sound sleeper, or I'd be even more pissed than I am. There's nothing like a crying infant to put you in just the right mood to deal with your perpetually teenage 'son'.

I take a mental inventory of who's in the hotel with me. Fred is at Gunn's. That accounts for two of them. Wesley's at home, and Cordy's who knows where. The other two. Check. 

The point is, it's just me and my sometimes annoying progeny tonight. Plus Conner.

Climbing slowly out of bed, I grab a robe and wrap myself in it. Checking quickly on Conner, who's fast asleep and drooling, I head down the stairs, working myself up until I am incredibly mad when I reach the bottom. Spike had better watch out.

"William!" I roar, when I reach the bottom of the stairs.

Nothing.

Stalking loudly so that he knows I'm coming, I head for the common room, where I know he is. Spike neither turns his music down, nor ceases his dreadful, off-key singing to it. Though what there is to sing to, I'm really not sure. It sounds like Conner with the kitchen pots and pans.

Flinging the door open, I step inside, head straight for the sound system, and pull the plug out of the wall. I know Spike has the remote, and I don't want to play 'who can press the buttons faster' with him right now.

"Spike, it's five am."

He shrugs. The little bastard shrugs.

"What do you have to say for yourself, childe?" My voice is dark and deep, a tone I've forgotten, a tone I haven't used since Angelus was on the loose in Sunnydale.

He looks up at me, impertinently, and speaks annoyingly slowly, as if I am the child. "This is when vampires are up, mate."  
I point emphatically to myself. "Not this one, Spike. _This_ one has a child, a boss, and odd hours as it is. _This_ vampire will not have you playing whatever the hell that dreadful noise is in my downstairs bedroom at five am!"

Spike smirks. "Humans really got you whipped, huh?"  
I almost blow up at him for that, but I manage, somehow, to keep my cool. "Spike, just be quiet until dawn."

He shrugs. "Suit yourself, Peaches."

I look down at him, annoyed beyond belief with his insolence. You can put a soul in the vampire, but you can't take the vampire out of the soul. Or something like that. Slowly, I pull the CD tray out of the stereo, grab his CD, and break it down the middle.

"Hey! You're gonna pay for that!"

I smirk. "Just suiting myself, William."

He glares, but doesn't say anything more. I go back to bed, but Conner's up, and has decided it's time to rise and shine permanently for the day. All my attempts to get him to go back to sleep fail until around noon, and by then, the rest of the office has shown up.

I'm going to kill Spike if he ever does that again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day already feels long. There are plans to kill a few demons after sunset, a few more of the same to be studied at length with the hours of the bright afternoon looming overhead. There is a highlight, though. It rains a little in the morning and I venture out into the open, just because I like to feel the sun, if indirectly, on my skin. But the cloud cover isn't that thick, so I only stand in the gray for a few minutes.

Spike sleeps all day. He fell asleep right where he was in the morning, spread across the couch like an enormous blanket. He wakes, bleary-eyed, at three in the afternoon, grabs a mug of blood, and goes back into the room to watch television. When I ask him if he slept well, he tells me to 'bugger off'. I just smile. I've purposely let Conner make as much noise as suited him today.

At six, Conner wakes up from a brief nap, and demands to be fed. I feed him, then bathe him, change him, and leave him with Fred, while Gunn, Cordy and I go off to find a demon in her latest vision. Once it's caught and killed, we return, triumphant but too tired to celebrate, covered in slimy ooze and reeking of the sewers.

It's nine by the time we shower and change, and Conner's nodding off in Fred's arms. I put him to sleep, and then go back downstairs to catalog the demon into the proper files, to make sure we note where we killed it, with what, and just generally fill out all the annoying paperwork that's supposed to keep us from repeating any mistakes we might have made. It was my idea, but I can't remember why I thought it was a good one, for the life of me.

Eleven comes too soon. Cordelia leaves, escorted by Wesley. Gunn and Fred stick around a bit longer, trying to figure out some demon prophecy or another, there are so many of them that I rarely bother to work on them personally unless they pertain to me. In fact, I would just never read any of them, if it were up to me. The others research them in their spare time, though.

At midnight, Fred and Gunn leave, yawning. Spike is, by now, wide-awake and bouncing around the hotel. He slides down the staircase railing like a little child, and practices his fighting skills in the middle of the lobby. I shush him several times, trying to keep Conner asleep, but he pays little heed.

Finally, I head up to my bedroom, make sure the baby monitor's on, and stuff towels under my door until I can barely hear him. Stuffing my head under a pillow, I fall asleep to the dulcet sounds of another one of Spike's god-awfully annoying CDs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Conner wakes me at three for his bottle. I head wearily into my child's room, put the bottle in a pot of water, and try to keep him quiet until it heats up enough to give him. I don't know why I bother. I know Spike is still bouncing off the walls, and he's the only other person here.

I feed him, put him back to bed, and creep downstairs, wondering what incredible activity I'm going to catch my other 'son' at. Knowing Spike, it could be anything from watching porn to standing on his head, literally, though I don't know why he would do that. Which is precisely why he might.

Quietly checking the lobby, I decide he's not there. Okay, one room down. Next, the kitchen. He's left quite a mess, but he's not there, either. And the melted ice cream in the bowl on the table is crusted over, he's been gone a few hours. On to the bedroom, then. Maybe I find a nice little surprise. Maybe Spike is actually sleeping.

No, that couldn't happen. That would be way too pleasant for me.

I open the door, bracing myself, wondering what's going to happen, and then--

Nothing. He's not here. Shit.

I start to move quickly around the hotel, no longer bothering to be quiet. "William!" 

Spike once showed up when I called him like that, and then said, all courteous and obedient, eyes down and hands behind his back, "You bellowed, sire?"

Needless to say, Angelus was not pleased.

But this time, I would have been happy even to see Spike insult me.

I check every room twice, and every closet once. I look around for notes, but there are none. I wasn't really expecting that. It would be to polite for Spike to have even thought of.

Sighing, I go upstairs, grab the phone, and dial Cordelia. Someone answers, but doesn't speak, and I know who's on the other end of the line.

"Hey, Dennis. Sorry about calling now, but I need to talk to Cordy. It's important." There's silence on the other end of the line, and then a little muffled rustling, and Cordelia sleepily yawns into the receiver. 

"Hello?"

"Cordy, Spike's gone."

I can practically hear her shrug. "And?"

"I've got to go find him. Can you watch Conner?"

Cordy sighs. "Angel, it's three-thirty in the morning. Spike's a grown... vampire, and it's like, vampire high-noon. Isn't he allowed to be out?"

"No!"

Now I can practically hear her jump, too. "God, Angel! Relax! I'll be there." She hangs up the phone, clearly pissed.

When she shows up in the driveway, hair perfect and outfit matching, despite the hour, I'm there to greet her. "Cordy, I'm sorry."

"About the ungodly hour? Because you should be. I think I need hazard pay times several hundred, mister-boss-not-boss. Not only do I get visions that were going to kill me, but I have to fight the demons in said visions, and then I get called to babysit at three am because your vampire whatever-he-is has gone missing! This is really going to disrupt my sleeping pattern, you know." She thinks about it for a second longer. "Or it would, if I had one. Which, you know, I don't, seeing as we're available day and night."

I smile. So typically Cordelia. "Not about that, Cordy, though I am sorry." I can't resist a little dig, though. "Not that you shouldn't be used to it by now."

"Hey! I resent that. You may be able to look gorgeous on six hours of sleep, but I need more!"

I smile. "I meant, I was sorry about yelling at you."

She shrugs. "Forgotten already."

I take her coat, and hang it up, handing her the baby monitor. "Thanks, Cordy. Really."

She sits down on the weird couch we have in the middle of the room, and fiddles with the knobs on the monitor until she's satisfied it's working right. "No problem. For you, anyway."

I grab my coat, and start to walk out the door, when she stops me. "Angel?"

I turn to face her. "Yeah?"  
"Why is he so important to you?"  
Whoa. Loaded question there. "Lots of reasons, Cordy. He's my childe. It's a strong bond. One I can't forget, no matter what he does."

"What about Drusilla and Darla, then?"

I sigh. "It's a long story. I promise to explain when I have the time. Is that okay?"

She nods. "Sure. I'm just gonna go back to sleep, so lock the door when you leave, okay?"

I nod back to her, and take off through the open portal to the world. The sun's going to be rising in only a couple of hours, and LA's a big city, so I need to do this fast.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I track him for an hour, before getting a good scent. Tracking isn't as scientific as it sounds. You know that Cordy once said we could drive around the city with the top down and I could take 'big whiffs'? Well, that's pretty much what this is. I drive through seedy neighborhoods that probably harbor demon bars, sniffing the air as I go, until I catch Spike's scent.

It's faint, but he's been here. Driving around the block, trying to get an idea of where he went, I catch and lose his smell so many times that I finally park the car, get out and walk. 

I follow him through some of the sorriest places I've ever seen, and I've seen a lot. The sun is an hour below the horizon, I can smell it too, faintly. 

Suddenly, Spike's smell is joined by another. I groan. Oh, great. My more than likely smashed drunk childe has picked up some pretty young thing to hang out with and scare the daylights out of. I may not have seen him in a long time, but I still know my William. Bite or no bite, he gets a thrill out of the scare.

And sure enough, there comes the scream. I race down the alley, just in case I'm wrong and it isn't Spike playing with some street-whore's mind, but I'm not, because there he is, laughing his head off, sitting on the edge of a dumpster, in full vamp-face, a once-pretty blond thing crouched in the corner farthest from him.

"William!" My voice is strong and commanding. He looks at me lazily.

"Wha'da hell d'you want, Peaches?" His speech is slurred, and Spike's been drinking for a very long time. He must have bought out the liquor store to get this drunk.

I grab him by the arm, and pull him off the dumpster. I notice the girl is still cowering in the corner, her exit blocked by me and Spike. I don't want to terrify the poor thing any more, so I step aside. "Go." She runs without a second thought.

"Hey! That's not fair! It's not like I could hurt her, I was just having a little fun!"

I stare him down. "William, I had to wake up Cordelia at three in the morning for you. I came through some of the worst neighborhoods on the planet to find you, I left my car where it's most likely getting vandalized at this very moment, and you're complaining because I let the girl you were _torturing_ get away?!"

He shrugs. "Yeah. Wouldn't you be, mate?"

I grab his coat-sleeve with a hand, and bodily drag him out of the alley. He follows me, mostly because I'm the only thing holding him upright, but he curses me with some words I didn't even know existed and lots that I do, until we reach my car. Throwing him in the backseat, I engage the child-safety locks so that he can't do anything stupid, and start the car.

He's asleep and drooling in the backseat by the time we make it back to the Hyperion. I disengage the locks, shake him roughly until he's semi-conscious, and drag him into the hotel. Pulling his coat off of him, I dodge his clumsy blow, and ignore his raised voice of indignity. "Hey!"

I search all the pockets of the coat, all the while trying to keep my childe off my back, literally. He's grabbing at the coat and trying to punch me, and then his balance goes off, and he falls down. I put a foot on him and pin him to the ground.

Cordelia comes walking down the stairs, Conner in her arms (yet another thing to thank Spike for), and bursts out laughing. Spike looks up at her, and struggles harder, but I'm older and stronger than he is, and besides, he's smashed drunk. 

I search his coat pockets and find them loaded with cocaine and drug paraphernalia. I hold it up for my childe to see. "Huh. Never figured you for a coke-man, Will."

He meets my gaze impertinently. "So?"  
I allow him to scramble up, and put him in a choke-hold. Cursing me all the way, he comes with me to the bathroom, and starts yelling even louder as I flush his drugs down the toilet, breaking the needle on syringe, smashing the body of the device, and throwing them away. I look at Cordy, who's followed me into the room. "Don't touch that trash can," I instruct her, "Until I've had a chance to empty it. Who knows where he got it." She nods. 

Spike looks at me, rage in his beautiful blue eyes. "Wha'da hell does'i matter?" He slurs.

I tighten the hold on his neck, unafraid of hurting him. It won't kill him, and he needs a little reminder of who's boss around here, anyway. "You and I may not be able to get human diseases, William, but think about all the ones that are probably on that needle. You wouldn't want Gunn, Wesley, Fred or Cordelia getting one, would you?"

Lowering my voice, I lean in close to him. "I don't think you do. Because if they did, I might have to kill you."

Spike tries with a desperate outburst to break my grasp, but it doesn't work. Nonetheless, Cordy backs up, taking Conner with her. I nod my thanks, and go back to teaching Spike tonight's lesson.

Letting go of him for a split second, I punch him solidly in the face. He reels, but keeps his balance and looks up at me. "What the fuck did you do that for?"

I smile. "Good. You're a little more sober." He doesn't deny it.

"Now, maybe you can remember my rules. One, they are my rules, and you are forced, by vampire law and honor, to obey me." Spike spits on my shoes. I ignore him.

"Two, this is my house, and in my house, _everyone_ will obey my rules. You are not an exception." Spike glares at me with a gaze that's put fear in many hearts. Again, I ignore him.

"And three, do you know what cocaine does to a vampire?" He's surprised by the quick change of ideas, but he shrugs. 

"Don't know and don't care, mate."

I smile. "Well, I guess you're about to find out. Let me tell you, it's unpleasant. And I think I'm going to let you experience it all, as punishment."

Spike shrugs again. "Okay."

I smile evilly. "Oh, beautiful William. I can guarantee you won't be saying that in the afternoon." My expression hardens abruptly, and I throw his coat at him and push him out of the bathroom. "Go to bed. I don't want to see or hear from you until you're sober."

Spike flips me off. "Don't worry, mate. You won't."

I just watch him leave.

* * *

[1] [2]

* * *

Back to _A Little Part of the Buffiverse_

Back to _A Little Part of the Buffiverse_ Fanfic


	3. Chapter Three

* * *

****

Not Invincible

by

Princess McPhee

* * *

Disclaimer: Not mine. Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt aren't me. Not even the right gender. So, therefore, I don't own.

Author's Note: Ideas from just about every Angel or Spike fic on the planet. So, if an idea very closely resembles yours, please don't take offense.

Summary: Spike goes to Angel, after Buffy beats up on him the latest time. AU from there.

Rating: R

* * *

Chapter Three

I take Conner back from Cordelia, and put him back to sleep. Cordy crashes in one of the empty rooms, and leaves instructions not to be woken up before noon unless there's an apocalypse within the next twelve hours. Of course, she points out, if there is, we'll all be dead or in another dimension or something, so there's no need for us to wake her, either way. I smile sleepily as she rants for a moment longer, and then goes down the hall, closing the door behind her.

I head back to my room and fall asleep instantly. Babies are adorable, lovable, gentle little creatures, but they do not make for excess sleep-getting. Forgive my grammar, it happens even to two-hundred forty-something's if they're tired enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At eight that morning, just three hours after I fell asleep, I'm awoken by a piercing scream. I snap to attention instantly, and look around, trying to get a bearing on the sound. When it stops, I jump out of bed, check on Conner, who's still asleep, amazingly enough, and Cordy, who's also still asleep, but this isn't as unexpected. Cordy can literally sleep through an apocalypse if she doesn't know about it.

Heading downstairs, I make for the bedroom where I figure Spike is sprawled. Opening the door a little, I peer inside, expecting him to be asleep, perhaps having a nightmare.

Instead, my childe is curled into the tightest ball of vampire I've ever seen, writhing on the couch. I watch impassively for a few moments, surprised at the emotion I feel. I knew all along what was going to happen, it shouldn't affect me to this extent.

Drugs work very differently in a vampire's body than in a human's. In a human, the blood flow is constant, making a continuous loop around the arteries and veins of the person. This sends the drugs through the brain, causing the effects they have, but it also sends them through the liver and kidneys, where they slowly get filtered out. Not so for the walking dead.

Spike's and my blood, just like every other vampire's, moves very slowly. Since our hearts don't beat to move the blood, what's left of our organs is forced to take up the heart's task. Don't ask me about it, I don't know much more than that, but as far as my experience goes, our circulation doesn't work nearly as well as a human's. Which is fine, most of the time, considering that there's no reason it needs to.

Except when drugs are involved.

Because Spike's blood flows slowly compared to a human's, the drugs take longer to kick in, as with every substance he puts in his body. Vamps take longer to get drunk, and longer to get sober. That's the critical part. Because the blood passes through the brain for longer, and the liver and kidneys of a vampire are far less effective, the drug (ninety-nine percent its physical effects rather than any others) is ten times as potent, or more, in the vampiric body.

Because the human brain isn't everything that controls the vampire, generally drugs have littler effect on the vamp than you would think, given the explanation I've just given. The demon just kicks in, and helps the vampire along until the drugs are finally flushed out of the system. 

But cocaine, and a few others, are exceptions. They have magickal properties as well medicinal ones, and they effectively bind the demon while they are in the body, therefore forcing the vampire's ineffective human system, or what remains of it, to deal with the chemicals in the drugs.

Spike will be in agony for the next day or so. Because the reaction took place so soon after he took the drugs, maybe longer. The sooner the reaction occurs, the closer to the brain he injected it. Meaning that it's going to the brain first, and not through the liver or kidneys. Meaning also, that it's at full strength right now, and will be for a while.

My childe is hugging his knees to his chest, instinctively curling up into what's the most comforting position for most humanoids; the one they spent nine months in their mother's womb in. His head is lashing back and forth and he's moaning, tears running from his closed eyes in pain. He's conscious, but barely, and he opens his eyes as I walk into the room, looks at me, and closes them again, determined not to ask for my help. Such an independent boy, my William.

I leave him, closing the door behind me, and try to fix breakfast. Fred and Gunn come in about twenty minutes later, and eat my muffins, Wesley wanders in at ten, and Cordelia stumbles down the stairs at eleven. 

Sighing as I look up from a book of demonology that usually holds my attention like a magnet, I curse my inability to focus. No one else can, but I can hear my childe's pained sounds from the other room, faint as they are. I don't want to help him, don't want to give in after I said I wouldn't, but he sounds so miserable.

I've explained to my crew about what Spike did last night, and I must say they didn't look terribly sorry for him. But now Wesley looks up at me, sympathy in his eyes, and nods towards the door of the bedroom. "Why don't you go and get him something to eat?" He suggests. "That way you won't look like you're trying to help him out, but you can check and see how he is."

I shake my head and go back to reading, determined. But I can't stay still, and I get up five minutes later and head to the kitchen, leaving Conner with an eager Fred. Warming pig's blood in the microwave, I bounce from foot to foot, waiting for it to be done. Spike hates animal blood, I know, but he eats it.

Taking it from the microwave dish, I pour it into a mug, and get out the sugar. I don't know if vampires can be hypoglycemic, but Spike always did prefer people who'd just been eating sweets. Stirring it in, it dissolves readily and I head to the bedroom where I left my childe.

Opening the door softly, I peek inside. Spike's still curled up on the couch, and I wait to see if he's awake. One pained ice-blue eye creeps open, and I enter the room. He's relatively quiet for the moment, and I hope to myself that maybe the worst is over. But not so. He seizes, goes stiff and moans hard, then goes limp, looking utterly miserable. I've seen vamps on coke before, but never this bad, and it's paining me to watch him like this and not do anything.

Deciding that he is my childe, whether I like him or not, and he doesn't deserve to suffer, I throw my principles from last night out the window. Sitting down on the end of the couch he's not occupying at the moment, I put the blood on the bedside table. Putting my arms under his limp body, I pull him into a sitting position, and he lolls his head back against my shoulder, clearly hating it but too weak and in too much pain to do anything about it.

Picking up the blood again, I press it to his lips. He doesn't even try to drink. I open his mouth, and dribble a little in. He swallows, but so weakly that only a little of it goes down. 

I repeat this move for a while, I'm not sure how long. A bit gets down his throat, but not enough. A lot dribbles on his chest, staining his shirt, but I don't care. It gets on me too, as he tends to spit every time he seizes, but it's just blood. It's like the vampire equivalent of getting water, or milk, or orange juice or something tossed on you. It's just food.

We stay this way for a while, until I get probably a few ounces of blood down Spike's throat, and an equal amount _on _us. He looks a little less pale, but seems no better. Still, I leave him, hoping that it's enough so he can sleep it off. I hate him sometimes, but I can't stand to see him suffer. He's my son every bit as much as Conner is.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One, two and then three o'clock in the afternoon come and Spike's no better. I try to feed him again, but he's too weak, I barely get anything down him. I do take a warm, wet washcloth, pull off his bloody shirt and wipe his chest clean before redressing him, though. Dried blood can pull on your skin, and it's really uncomfortable. Besides, I don't want it on my couch.

Heading back into the room at six, after I've fed my human crew, I just watch him for a minute. After concluding that he's really not better, and that I'm starting to get worried, despite my efforts not to care, I head to his side. Pulling him up, I pull him past sitting, and heave him to his feet. He barely supports himself at all. 

"Come on, Will. Let's take a little walk. You'll feel better if you get your blood moving." He laughs pathetically at that, spitting a little blood from the inside of his mouth, where I can see he bit his cheek, probably trying to be quiet.

Holding him up, I walk him slowly around the room twice. It takes forever, he can barely move. Putting him back on the couch when I'm done, I exit the room again. Fred's waiting for me.

"How's he doin'?" She asks.

"Not good."

She nods. "That's too bad."

I laugh self-deprecatingly. "Yeah, that's what I think, too."

She picks up on the fact that I'm not happy with this. "Why shouldn't ya, Angel?"  
I look away from her honest gaze. "He's a monster. I'm not supposed to baby monsters, I'm supposed to kill them."

"He's your _son_, Angel. Ya can't help it if you love him. You might not want to, but there's nothing you can do about it."

I smile sadly down at her. "When'd you get so wise?" I ask.

She smiles bad, softly. "I dunno. I think it was after I met you, though."

Hugging her gently, I give her another little smile. "Thanks, Fred."

"You're welcome. And remember what I said."

I nod. "Promise."

She gives me one last smile, and heads back to the kitchen where everyone is congregated, looking at demon books. I take a look at the door behind which Spike is still lying in pain, and head back into the room. 

Pulling him a little roughly to a sitting position, I grab his lanky form, and push his head to my neck. He groans, but doesn't make a move. I think he's sicker than I was when Faith poisoned me. "Drink," I tell him.

I can feel the ridges on his face arise and then disappear as he turns back and forth for a moment before resting in his demon face. Yet his mouth still isn't open. I know he'll need more temptation that this before he can muster enough strength to bite and suck.

Putting him gently back against the couch, I lie down a little and pump my chest. Just because it doesn't work doesn't mean my heart is gone, and I can feel the surge of blood through my veins with this manual effort. Raising my childe back to my neck quickly, I press his mouth into the still gently pulsing artery. "Drink."

He opens his mouth, and I feel a prick as he puts his open mouth over the skin on my neck. Still, he doesn't bite.

Reaching up, I position his mouth to line up with an artery, grab the back of his head, and push down gently. His fangs bite into my neck, and at the first taste of blood, he finally gathers the strength to bite. Chomping his jaw once, he put his fangs into my neck and then rests there for a moment. Then, pulling them a little ways out, he swallows, and I can hear him drink what flows into his mouth. It's not much, though, as there's no pressure in my veins to press the blood out of the wound, and he won't suckle.

I pull his fangs from my neck and fasten his mouth around the wound. Then, tensing and releasing my neck muscles, I send spurts of my blood into his mouth. He drinks slowly at first, then more and more greedily until I start to feel lightheaded, and pull him away.

Again, he looks less pale, but not really better. I lay him back down on the couch, wrap a tight bandage around my neck, and then clean up his face. He's covered in blood, so it takes a little time, but I don't mind. He hasn't slipped out of vamp-face, but I don't mind that, either. He's weak, and the change takes effort. It's not necessarily as much that the vamp-face is the natural one, as it is just hard to move between the two of them when you're weak.

Laying a blanket over him and wiping the last traces of blood off his cheek with my finger, I leave the room. Cordy comes rushing up, and puts her hands on her hips in that move that is totally signature Cordelia Chase. "What do you think you're doing?" She asks.

Tired, I shrug. "What, Cordy?"  
"You fed him!"

"Yeah?"  
"You _fed_ him!"

"Cordelia, is there a point to this little argument?"

"Yes. You fed Spike your blood!"

"I realize that. I was there."

"But it's _sire's _blood! Now he's all strong and stuff! It's not like Spike isn't bad enough, the last thing we need is a vampire high on your blood while you're still too weak to fight him!"

I shake my head a little, reaching up and pressing down on the wound. "Cordy, he's hardly in any shape to be doing mischief. You can go check on him if you want, but when I left him, he was groaning and in a lot of pain."

"Well, what happened to 'I'm going to teach you a lesson' guy? I don't see why you should help him. He tortured you! And then he has the audacity to come here when things go wrong between him and your _ex_! A little tacky, don't you think?"

I sigh. "Cordy, I hate him. But I also love him, I can't help it. And I have an obligation to him. I raised him, helped make him what he is. I can't abandon him just because he didn't turn out how I would have liked."

"You didn't create him, Angel. You have no responsibility for him. Drusilla turned him, and Drusilla is responsible for him being a vampire. He's not one of your little lost-causes."

I shake my head again. "Cordy, I'm too tired for this. Just leave him alone, and watch Conner, please? I'm going to take a nap." I head up the stairs.

"This isn't over!"

I wave pleasantly to Cordelia without turning around, as I close the door behind me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cordy watches Conner like I know she will. She also answers the phone when Giles calls, wondering because Buffy said Spike disappeared. I'm steaming mad at something, I guess Buffy, when I hear about this. She had no right to torture him the way she did, and then wonder where he went.

But as much as I love her, she's always been like that. She's needy, and being the Slayer has given her an excuse for too long. Hopefully, she'll learn to deal, grow up and become a real adult now that both her crutches, Giles and Spike, are gone. It's hard for me to be mad at her because of our past, but now, I'm pissed. I may not like Spike all that much most of the time, but she had no right to treat him like she did.

I call Giles back as soon as I wake up and explain the situation. He sounds first shell-shocked, and then concerned. He's ready to get on a plane and fly back to Sunnydale, but I think I talked him out of it. I hope so.

"She has to grow up someday, Giles."

"But it isn't right to leave her with all of these burdens right now! She's been through a terrible ordeal, and now she has to deal with all of the things that are going wrong..."

"Deal, Giles. That's the imperative word. I love her, but she's needy. And she'll never learn anything if she keeps leaning on people."

"She's one of the longest-lived Slayers in history, Angel! I'd think you'd have a little respect for the fact that her friends and family are a big part of what got her there!"

"Calm down. I know that it's important people are there for her. But she can't use Spike as a punching bag, and she'll never learn to make her own choices if you or I make them for her. She's twenty-one now, and she has to be allowed to learn from her mistakes."

"But she's not like any other twenty-one year old. Buffy's mistakes could kill her, Angel."

"I know."

"I'll call you from Sunnydale."

"You left for a reason. Doesn't that reason apply considerably to this situation?"

Sigh.

"I just worry about her. I'm much too far away to do any good, here in London. I'm not... used to being too far away to call for help."

I smile, knowing the feeling. "She has Willow, Tara, Xander and Anya with her still, Giles. I'm only a phone call away, and I have five people working with me now. I promise we'll be there for her if she needs someone to help fight."

Silence.

"You know I wouldn't let anything happen to her."

"Yes, well, I suppose I do."

"Then you'll stay in London?"

"I suppose. For now."

"You're doing the right thing, Giles."

"I certainly hope so."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After the phone call with Giles, I go to check in on my childe. It's been three and a half hours since I went to take a nap, trying to recover fully from my little blood donation before the night's hunting. Cordelia, in a typical manner, has piled chairs fully of weapons in front of the door to Spike's room, so that it can't be opened from the inside. I sigh, send her a look, which she returns, and start removing the crap.

"This really wasn't necessary."

"Says who?"

"Says me. I ran with Spike for twenty-five years, Cordy. I think I know him pretty well."

"I don't trust him."

"I know that."

"So, good. Then we're on the same plane with the 'lock Spike in his room' plan."

I sigh. "Cordy, this couldn't possibly have held him in there if he was strong enough to pose a threat to anyone."

"Oh, great! Thanks! Just go ahead, burn down my little safety net! You know, sometimes people do stupid things because it makes them _feel_ safe, Angel. Not because they're actually useful. Like covering yourself from head to foot when you thought there were monsters around when you were four. I don't think sheets would have helped much if a vampire felt like taking a bite out of you, do you? No! But it makes millions of kids feel safe enough to sleep at night, and that's important!" She pauses for breath. "Are you getting it yet?"  
I smile a little. Typical Cordy. "Yes, Cordelia, I get it now. I promise I won't insult your little delusion-party from now on."

She looks more satisfied. "Thank you. Now, can you tell your kid to please fall asleep? It's like, forty-five minutes past his bedtime, he's spit up on Wesley, Gunn is sharpening weapons, and Fred took her turn already, and I've been watching him for a solid four hours!"

I smile more broadly. "Sure, Cordy." Leaning over the bundle in her arms, I put on my stern face. "Go to sleep, Conner." He just looks up at me with a blank, adorable-baby expression. I smile. "Sing to him."

"What?"

"You heard me. Sing to him. He likes it."

"Do you mean he likes it when _you_ sing to him, or when other people sing to him? Because if you mean when you sing to him, there's no way he's going to be able to make the connection between that and another person's voice."

"Oh gee, thanks, Cordelia."

"Just telling the truth." She looks down at Conner and taps him softly on the nose. "Never bother with tact. It's just a waste of time, not to mention it confuses what are fairly often pretty simple situations. Blunt and clear is the only way to go."

I ignore her, and finally fish the last of the rubble off Spike's door. Cordy steps back, taking Conner with her, and I push open the door, not sure of what I'll find. 

Nothing. I walk into the room and look around. Spike isn't where I put him. I'm not really afraid, not a lot scares me anymore, but I'm cautious. He could be lying in wait somewhere. Cordelia's right, sire's blood's a powerful thing, and I'm not exactly his favorite person at the moment.

Looking around the room once, and then twice, I'm starting to get worried. Not for me, but for my childe. There's no way out of this room but for the door, and though Spike could easily have gotten through the mess that Cordy left, someone would have noticed. Therefore, he's got to be here somewhere. He's obviously not lying in wait for me, since he would have jumped out by now.

Then, my eyes alight on a pile of blankets on the end of the couch. They are completely covering something, creating a big lump of what, on first glance, looks to be just blanket. But as I head over, I can finally see some of my childe's signature platinum blond hair sticking out from one end. I sigh in relief.

Pulling the cover slowly back, just far enough to reveal his head, I whisper to him. "Will,"

Nothing. "William."

Pulling the cover all the way off his body, I look down at the way he's curled himself into this incredibly tight little ball. It's easy to forget how tiny my boy is, he has such an imposing presence. But he's small and wiry, well-muscled but little. He looked so fragile when he was alive. I think that's part of why Drusilla liked him. She always preferred fragile things that she could play with until she broke.

Maybe that's why she left him. Maybe a hundred and twenty years of trying unsuccessfully to break him had made her leave to look for an easier target.

I'm not going to get into that, though. Drusilla was just too insane to even try and quantify what went through her head.

Spike curls up a little tighter as the first draft of cold air hits him, but otherwise doesn't stir. "Time to get up, William!" I say, trying to be bright and annoying. Spike always did hate that.

He does nothing, so I reach down, and grab him under the shoulders. Pulling on his upper half, I uncurl him, and lay him back down on the couch, flat on his back. His ice-blue eyes slowly open, and he glares up at me, fully aware. "Fuck you."

"Good evening to you too, William."

He doesn't answer me.

"Well? Aren't you going to say thank you?"

He shrugs. "For what?"

"For bleeding myself in an effort to relieve some of your suffering, boy." I can hear some of my sire tone creeping back into my voice, and I'm as unhappy with that as I am happy. Spike needs discipline. He needs a sire right now, to get him through the tough times. But Spike's sire was Angelus. And I _don't_ want anything to do with Angelus.

He shrugs again. "Why should I? You said don't come out until I was sober, I didn't. I kept my part of the deal. Isn't my fault you're a bleedin' poof who can't even bear to see a soulless vampire suffer."

I growl at him, letting him know that further impertinence will not be tolerated, but he merely holds my gaze and looks straight back. 

I'd forgotten for a moment that it's different now. That, though I will always hold power over Spike, partly because he's biologically my grandchilde, and partly because he's adoptively mine, he's not a fledgling anymore, and he doesn't take orders without question.

Not that he ever did.

But it's changed. When a young vampire leaves the pack to live on his or her own, they are no longer a fledgling. When they gain a hundred years of unlife, they are a master vampire. Spike didn't leave the pack by choice, but I deserted them in the early 1900's, and I hear Darla left only a few years later to rejoin the Master. Like it or not, Spike had been thrown out on his own with a dependant, psychotic sire as his only companion.

The vampire who's looking defiantly at me right now is a puzzling mix of my stuttering William, and the battle-hardened, scrappy master vampire named Spike. 

Getting up, I leave the room without speaking. If Spike gets hungry, he'll come out to eat. Until then, I'm satisfied that he's well enough I don't need to keep a constant eye on him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

****

China, 1900

The night that I left the pack, no one but William saw me go. I'd made sure Drusilla was snug in her bed as the sun prepared to creep over the horizon, and Darla had not come back yet. William had been asleep in a chair by the fireplace, sated with even the several day's-ago Slayer blood and the sex that Drusilla had given so freely after he'd earned her respect in the only way my kind knew how.

I remember smelling the sun as I headed out the door. It would be a long dash from the home we'd stolen, to the docks, but I was a vampire. I could do it, could make a straight sprint without needing to stop. After all, I didn't breathe, I remember thinking bitterly.

I'd barely closed the door softly behind me when William had opened it, his face bleary with sleep, but his eyes sharp and alert. He'd been playing dumb, but we both knew he'd known what was going on. "Mornin'" He greeted me. I'd just nodded my head.

I'd started to walk down the road, ignoring my childe. But when we'd gone several blocks, I'd stopped, and without looking at him, spoken. "Go watch Dru, William. You know she can't be left alone."

He was stubborn, even back then. "Where are you going?"

"That's not your place to know."

He hadn't met my eyes. That would have been too impertinent even for William, when he was just barely nineteen. I'd turned a hundred and twenty-four early in the year. Darla had brought me a beautiful maiden. We'd eaten her together, and then had sex by the edge of the puddle of blood that we had allowed to seep from her onto the floor. We'd rolled in it, and then licked each other clean. The memory made me sick.

"Please, sire. You know Dru will ask."

I'd sighed. I had known. I just hadn't wanted to deal with it. "Tell her that I'm sorry," was all I'd told William, before walking away again.

He'd sprinted to catch up with my brisk strides. It had been getting close to sunrise, both of our skins were itching with the warning that we'd been in-tune with since quickly after our turnings. "Please, sire."

There had been something in his voice that had made me turn around and look. William was a proud young man, and a prouder vampire. But then... there'd been something pleading about the way he'd asked for my attention. 

I'd focused on him for a moment, and he'd seemed to struggle to gather the courage to say something. Finally, he'd blurted out what I knew to be the truth. It wasn't, however, what I'd known was really on his mind. "You know if you leave, we will fall apart," He'd said.

I'd nodded. "Take care of Dru for me," I'd said. "You know what'll happen if you don't."

He'd locked eyes with me for just a second then, I think, trying to convey the seriousness of the next thing he said. "I promise, sire." And he'd done it. He'd taken care of Dru 'til the ends of the earth. It was only after she left him, did he forsake his promise. I couldn't have expected more of him. That's a big part of how I know Spike keeps his word. He's made few promises, but he's never broken one.

I'd walked away again, intending this to be the last time, but Will had stopped me again, for the last time, slightly wet eyes begging for my attention. I'd granted it, telling myself that I wouldn't stop for him again. I had to get to the docks before the sun came up. "What, boy?"

"Sire... please, don't go."

I'd looked down at him with a mix of pity and sorrow. No anger, really, despite all he'd put me through. I was responsible for him, and though I didn't feel as bad for his turning as I did for Drusilla's, it still put a terrible ache in my chest every time I thought of it. And there he was, asking for me to stay, because he didn't think he was strong enough to be everything I had been.

That was the last thing I'd wanted for him, to follow in Angelus's footsteps. I'd almost laughed, later in my unlife, when I'd found out how differently he'd turned out. If there was only one wish I'd ever made concerning Spike that came true, that was it.

And I'd looked down at him, where he'd actually dropped to his knees in the pale pink glow of the approaching sun, pulled his chin up so that I could see his eyes, looked as deeply as I could into those warm, ice-blue orbs, and whispered the only thing that could encompass what I was feeling at the moment. "I love you, William."

Then I'd left him there on the ground, waiting for the sun to rise or for his senses to return, whichever came first, and he hadn't followed me. I'd barely made the freighter I'd planned to take, but I'd caught it, and that was the end of the days Angelus spent running with his sire and childer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

****

Los Angeles, 2002

The night goes on, and around ten-thirty, Gunn and I head out with our axes, stakes and crosses, making for the nearest vamp nest. It takes half an hour to dust all six of them, clearly not fledglings, but not very old, either. A couple of times they get the upper hand, but Gunn's every bit as resourceful as me, if not as strong, and we quickly take it back. Wesley can't fight with us yet, we allow him if we absolutely have to, but unfortunately, he'll probably never recover completely from that bullet he took.

Heading back to the hotel, I find Fred tapping away at the computer, and Cordy reading some magazine or another, probably Vogue. She leaves them around all the time. The door to Spike's room is thrown open, and I can see the blinking light of the baby monitor next to Cordelia's hand, on the arm of the couch.

"He's asleep?" I ask. She nods.

"A while ago."

Heading upstairs, I check on him quickly, watch him breathe for a few moments. Conner's a blessing, a gift that I never thought I would get, and he means more to me than anything else in the world. Sometimes it's almost scary how much I feel for him, but I wouldn't give it up for anything.

I go reluctantly back downstairs to log the vampire killings, the date, the time, the place, all that crap. Gunn's polishing the weapons carefully, and putting them away one by one. Nobody else has moved.

"Where's Spike?" I ask.

Cordy shrugs. "He left right after you did. Don't know where he went." What she really means is, 'I didn't care enough to ask.' Not that I expected any more from someone who hates Spike with the passion that she does. Let no one ever tell you that Cordelia Chase can't hold a grudge. She can, and it's not pretty.

I throw my head back in exasperation and mutter under my breath. Wesley raises an eyebrow. "Impressive," He says.

I give a humorless smile. "Been around a long time."

Cordy looks back and forth between us, a puzzled look on her face. "Okay, fill me in. What did I miss?"

Wesley nods towards me. "Angel was just... regaling us with a show of some rather... _foul_ language."

Cordy looks at me. "Go, Angel!" She says. "You know, I think cursing is supposed to be good for the soul. Releases tension, or something." She frowns. "You know, in that case, maybe you shouldn't curse."

I smile tiredly at her. "I'll be fine. Now, no one knows where Spike is?" I look around the room, met with shrugs and uncaring looks all around.

I sigh. "Great. Another night I have to go looking for him."

Cordy looks at me with a weird expression. "No you don't. Angel, Spike may make bad judgment calls, but they're his to make." At least she's stopped trying to tell me that the world wouldn't exactly weep if Spike were dust after tonight.

Not that it isn't true. It's just that it's hardly what I need to hear right now. _I_ know the world would be better off without my childe. He seems to know it, too. Cordy, Gunn and Wesley seem to have no qualms about the idea. But I can't bring myself to be so impassionate, I can't seem to care as little as they do. Because he's my boy, my William, no matter how long he lives or how much he changes.

And I can't seem to make my heart forget that, as much as my soul wants to.

I shrug on my coat and grab a couple of stakes and an axe. I'll leave it in the car, it's just always good to have something to fight with. "Can you guys watch Conner?"

Gunn nods, Fred looks up from the computer screen and smiles. "Sure." Wesley ignores me, expecting, as always, for the others to take on this task, and Cordy heaves a long-suffering sigh.

"Angel, you might be gone all night again."

I grimace a little at the idea myself. "I know. I'm sorry. Could someone stay here with Conner? There's plenty of empty rooms."

Gunn looks up. "I'll stay."

I smile. "Thanks." It's hard to picture Gunn as the fatherly type, but then, I never exactly figured myself for that role, either. He's perhaps not the best person to leave an infant with, and I doubt he has any idea what he's doing. But he knows how to hold him, how to change his diaper, how to attempt to get him to stop crying, and he'll protect Conner with his life, the same way we all would. I know my son is safe in the hands of anybody in this room.

I'm about out the door when Lorne appears. "Hey, Angelcakes," He greets me. It shows how used to him I am now, since I don't even flinch at the hated nickname.

"Hey."

He looks me over, and then at his watch. "It's midnight. Isn't patrol over by now?"

I nod silently, not really wanting to get into this. Cordy does it for me, though, piping up from the chair in the corner. "He's going out to look for Spike. Again." The last word is said pointedly, and I ignore it, but I don't miss it.

Lorne looks me over. "You really need an electric-shock collar for that pup, huh?" He says. Cordy giggles.

"Good idea!"

I send a glare at first the Host, and then at Cordy. I can almost see her doing that. "Not. Going. To happen."

She sends me a biting look. "Well, Gunn may be self-sacrificing enough to take on your son again, all night, for the second time this week, but it's my turn tomorrow, and I'm telling you now, I'm not staying past eleven nor getting here before nine, unless there is an apocalypse on the way. Understood?"

I give her a little smile, just for being Cordy. "Understood."

The door slams behind me.

* * *

[1] [2] [3]

* * *

Back to _A Little Part of the Buffiverse_

Back to _A Little Part of the Buffiverse_ Fanfic


	4. Chapter Four

* * *

****

Not Invincible

by

Princess McPhee

* * *

Disclaimer: Not mine. Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt aren't me. Not even the right gender. So, therefore, I don't own.

Author's Note: Ideas from just about every Angel or Spike fic on the planet. So, if an idea very closely resembles yours, please don't take offense.

Author's Note 2: This story has been, up till this point, platonic. Now, I'm struggling with the decision on whether to keep it that way. Opinions? 

Summary: Spike goes to Angel, after Buffy beats up on him the latest time. AU from 'Dead Things'.

Rating: R

* * *

Chapter Four

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I don't find Spike's scent anywhere. I consider calling Buffy and asking if he's back in Sunnydale, but my feelings about her are too mixed up right now. As far as I can tell, he didn't have much real contact with anyone else, so they might not even know if he's back. So, it wouldn't do much good to call them. Not to mention, I hear that just about everyone lives at the Summers' home, now.

So, at four am, after nearly four hours of searching for my wayward childe, I give up. Going back to the hotel, I curse him all the way. "I swear, if he shows up high on anything, I'm going to..." I can't quite bring myself to say I'll stake him, though. I'm not even entirely sure why.

Gunn's crashed out on the couch in the lobby when I return, and he awakes as the door opens. "Hey, man," He greets me, waving lazily with one hand, and then goes back to sleep. I hang up my coat, and head quietly up the stairs.

Lorne's with Conner, and they're both asleep, the Host in the rocking chair, and my son in his crib. I smile at them, and tiptoe out, into my room. Throwing off my boots and pants, I crawl into bed, too tired to bother with pajamas or a clean shirt.

I sleep steadily for about two hours. When the rising of the sun signals to Conner that it's time to awake, I stumble sleepily from my room, heading for the kitchen. Lorne intercepts me halfway there. "Hey, Angelcakes, go back to bed," He says. "I've got Conner."

"It's okay. I got it." I must admit, I don't sound very convincing, even to my own ears. 

"I mean it." He gives me that look, and I nod, yawning. 

"Thanks."

"No problem."

I don't re-awaken until noon. After I shower and clothe myself, I head downstairs. It's like a repeat of last night, and an eerily close one, too. 

Gunn is sharpening the weapons in the glass display case, one at a time, and then oiling and cleaning them. Wesley is reading some incredibly thick tome, the only person I know who can actually look interested in something with 8-font and four thousand pages. Lorne is cooing at Conner, who's giggling softly from his bassinette. 

Cordy's doing her nails. Fred's on the computer again. And Spike's door is closed.

"Is he in there?" I ask. Gunn nods. 

"Came back about five-thirty," He replies. "Looked more than a little drunk."

I sigh, and head purposefully for my childe's room.

Spike is asleep on the couch, snoring softly. Why he breathes when he doesn't have to, I have no clue. That's just Spike.

The curtains are drawn so that the direct sunlight doesn't fry him, but it isn't actually all that dark. Spike likes light, I remember. William liked pastel colors and gentle shades. Maybe a part of Spike still does. 

It wasn't just the power thing that made him want the Gem of Amara. Sure, that was the major incentive, but I remember, back when we all ran together, that William would sometimes open a window in the house where we were living, and look out of it from the side, risking injury from the sun. I got awfully pissed over that the first few times. But then I realized that he just liked the light.

I pull the covers off of him, roughly. He awakens without a sound, his eyes just open, and he's awake. 

I stare down at him, daring him to say something. He doesn't, though. He's drunk, alright. I can smell whiskey and bourbon and pig's blood on him, and the faint scent of sex. He hasn't actually had sex, but he's been doing some major making out. Probably got to third base with her, whoever she was, then flashed his fangs to give himself a thrill. It's a sickly Spike-type thing to do.

"You're drunk."

He shrugs. "What of it?"  
My tone is hard and cold. "Yesterday, I bled myself for you, because you were in agony from trying to get high on cocaine. Then you go out and drink yourself into a stupor. Real great thanks, William."

He explodes at this. I can tell he's only been barely tolerating the name, and the time's come when he won't, anymore. "It's Spike, you bloody moron! I haven't been soddin' William in a century!"

I smile a little, coldly. "I say what I see. Spike's a master vampire. William's a fledgling. It's not hard to tell which one's controlling you now."

He glares at me, but doesn't say a word. 

Abruptly, I grab him by the arm and drag him up. "Hey!" He cries. "What the fuck?"

I ignore him, and pull him through the lobby and into the bathroom. Running cold water from the faucet, I grab his head and shove it in the sink. Not afraid of him suffocating, since he doesn't need to breathe, I hold him there for a good minute or two, until he stops struggling. When I let him up, there's murder in his eyes, but also a kind of necessary submission. Good. Maybe he's finally recognized that he has to obey my rules.

I shove him a towel, and leave. I can hear him rubbing his head, hard, and then he stalks through the lobby, back into his room, and slams the door. I look at it, a tiny smile creeping onto my face.

Then I turn and see that the whole lobby, full of practically every person I know, has just witnessed me dominating Spike.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Night comes faster than I think it's supposed to, or at least, it feels like it does. I wrack my brain for ways to deal with my childe tonight, but it's not working very good right now. I think it's the worry over what my friends saw, earlier today.

It's been a hard sell, trying to be who I am in front of humans. I refused to drink in front of Buffy. I'll drink with the others around, here, but I still maintain a very human front. There's a lot of vampire in me, and I don't release it when my friends are near, usually. 

But Spike was just asking for it, today, mouthing off to his sire. He's been treating me with disrespect ever since he got here, and though I'm actually willing to ignore it, he's never going to listen to me until I get some respect out of him. And he's a vampire. Dominating him is the only way I'm going to get that respect.

Finally figuring out something, I reach under my bed. It's a box of crap that I've collected over the years, the only things I saved from my time as Angelus, mixed with the only things I brought from Sunnydale. Rifling through it, trying not to look at the things that bring so many painful memories back, I find what I'm searching for.

Stalking downstairs, I find Gunn getting ready for patrol. "Cordy had a vision," He says. "Fourth and main. In about an hour."

I nod tersely. "I'll be ready in a few minutes." Stalking into Spike's room, I grab the younger vampire from where he's sitting in front of the television, and drag him into the lobby. Everyone looks up.

Protesting all the way, with some more colorful cursing than I wanted to know he'd learned, he digs in his heels all the way to the staircase.

Everything in this hotel has been broken at least a couple of times. Except the staircase railing. I've wondered, a few times, if it's magically protected. It's completely possible. Once, a while ago, I had Cordy and Wesley tie me to it, and I know I can't break it. I'm counting on the fact that Spike isn't much, if any, stronger than me.

Pulling the things I got out of the box from my pocket, I snap one end around his wrist, and then pull him tight to the staircase and snap it tight around the railing. Pulling over a stool, I push him down until he's sitting on it, and then use the other pair of handcuffs to secure his other wrist. Spike can pick any kind of lock that was ever created, and I don't want him to have a hand free to do that.

Leaning into his ear, I smile a little maliciously, and whisper to him. "You're not going anywhere tonight, boy."

I pull away and look at him. Fire's flying through his eyes, and his temper is raging, but he's outwardly calm. Then his throat muscles tense, and he spits in my face. "Fuck you, Angelus."

Hauling back, I slap him, hard. It won't do any damage, but it will remind him of his place. Then I leave, Gunn's smile the only expression in the room besides pure shock. I was right. I haven't been showing them much of what a vampire really is.

Well, I guess they're going to learn fast, seeing as I need Spike to remember his place, and this is the only way I'm going to be able to do it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The demons in Cordy's vision are wimps, and Gunn and I take them out pretty easily. A lot of times there are specifics about what can kill a demon, you know, silver for hellhounds and werewolves, wood for vampires, copper for some demons, I've even fought demons that required having pieces of nickel alloy shoved through their skulls before they died. Let me tell you, that was an interesting battle.

But these ones don't seem to fare too well against your ordinary slash-and-hack, as Gunn calls it, so I guess we're lucky. Nickel spikes aren't too easy to come across, especially for the prices we can afford.

Gunn doesn't ask a single question about Spike, thank god. I know Cordy's going to be worse than an interrogation when we get back, especially if my childe spent all night baiting her, which I wouldn't put past him. When he's hurting, he lashes out at other people, rather than dealing with his own pain. Like a lot of men. Only Spike isn't a man. 

It doesn't seem to matter.

I can't help wishing that Spike hadn't chosen _right now_ to come to LA. I'm still new to this fatherhood thing, and getting used to three hours of sleep a night. Fred's still learning the ropes, and though I'm sure she'll make a useful part of the team soon, right now she requires a lot of hand-holding. Which Gunn is happily 'helping' out with. To the point of being utterly useless when I need him, sometimes.

Wiping down the blades of the weapons so that the demon-blood doesn't cake on, I throw the final axe in the back of the car. "Ready?" Gunn nods, and we're off.

I like him. Only when I accidentally abuse Wes do I get any guff from him. He's street-hardened, so he's not as shocked as the rest of the gang at what I do when I occasionally revert to my vampiric ways, he has a good sense of humor and a crackling wit, and he's strong enough to be fair. Never takes anything he shouldn't take, never gives anything he shouldn't give. It's not an easy thing to be, emotions tend to get in the way a lot.

The ride back is silent, but it's not uncomfortable. Gunn saw me dominate Spike, and didn't seem to mind. In fact, he didn't even seem to barely notice, and when I locked my childe to the banister, I swear he smiled a little. I guess living and fighting vampires on the streets and actually _being_ one of the infamous undead aren't so different.

We enter into the lobby, and it's dark. It's about nine-thirty, so I know that Conner should be asleep, but I wonder briefly where the others are. It doesn't take long to figure out.

Voices are drifting from Wesley's office, if I perk up my ears enough, I can just make them out. They're talking about what I did to Spike, Cordy arguing that I did the right thing and what did they care about Spike for anyway? Wesley arguing that I was never that hard on living creatures and something must be wrong, and Fred interjecting occasionally that I must have a good reason. I smile a little.

Gunn stomps into the lobby, flips the switch to the light high on the ceiling, and hands me several weapons. I take them, open the display case, and start to load them back where they go. I'm not incredibly fastidious, though I do like to live in a neat environment, but a weapons case has to be neat. It could be a matter of life or death some day, for me or any other member of the AI team. Gunn and I handle this case, no one else. Even Wesley, though he is presumably the boss of this organization, asks before he goes into it. 

Cordy and Fred have no interest. The case only contains specialty weapons anyway, there's not reason for them to. We have stakes everywhere around the lobby, a couple of axes hung by the door, a few swords by the basement entrance, though most of my collection is downstairs. Each of us have probably several billion-dollar bounties out on us, we need to be able to protect ourselves at all times. The weapons in the case are merely for planned fights, like tonight's.

The rest of my crew appears as they hear us. "Conner's asleep," Cordy says, unnecessarily.

I nod. "Thanks." Nothing further passes between us, the tension in the room high.

Finally, just as Gunn is going back out to park the car and I'm securing the last sword in place with its leather straps and then closing the glass case, Wesley breaks the silence. "Angel..."

I turn to face him, certain what I'm about to hear is regarding my idiot childe. "Yes?"

"Are you sure what you did to Spike was... strictly necessary?"

I shrug a little, and give Wes the truth, which is an answer the last thing he expected to hear. "No."

There's a moment's pause. "No?" He asks.

"No. But I'm his sire, it's my prerogative to treat him how I please."

Wesley looks vaguely shocked. "Are you certain... this will help him?"

I shake my head. "No."

Cordy finally gets frustrated, and takes over from Wesley's stumbling attempts to make me hear what they were discussing the kitchen. "For Gods' sake, Angel, what Wesley's trying to ask is why the hell did you stick Spike's head under the faucet and nearly drown him, and then chain him to the staircase?"

From the dark in the corner of the room comes a voice so irritating and at the same time, calming, that it can only belong to my childe. "He never tells me."

"Oh, shut up." Apparently Cordy doesn't care enough about Spike to be nice to him.

I shrug again. "Because he needed to remember to have some respect."

Cordy looks exasperated, but she won't give up. "There was nothing about respect in that little... macho display, Angel."

Spike chuckles from the corner. I turn to face him, and give a little growl. Then I go back to Cordelia. "Can we talk somewhere else?" I ask. She nods, and wordlessly leads me back into Wesley's now-empty office. Wes goes to help Gunn with unloading some of the heavier stuff.

Cordelia jumps up a little and sits on the edge of the desk. I lean against the wall, after closing the door behind me. "Cordy..."

"Angel, just spit it out already!"

I catch her eye, and try to drill the importance of this into her. "This doesn't leave this room, okay?"

"Angel-"

"No. Either this stays between you and me, or I treat Spike however I please, and you'll just have to wonder, like the others."

She agrees reluctantly. "Alright."

I take a deep breath, and look away from her. "Did you know Spike came here to put his life in my hands?" I ask her, softly. Meeting her eyes, I see her confusion, but she only just shakes her head.

"No."

"Well, he did. He came in my door and handed me a stake and told me that he was useless and just wanted me to kill him. End it all, because he couldn't bring himself to greet the sunrise."

Cordy breathes softly, gasping a little. "God," She whispers. She doesn't care for Spike, but I think she understands now how much pain he's in.

"Yeah."

There's silence in the little room for a moment, and then Cordy reaches out and pulls me to her. She motions for me to sit down next to her on the desk. I do, and she wraps an arm around me, holding me close.

"I didn't know."

"I didn't tell you."

Pause.

"So, that's why you need Spike to obey you? So that you can be sure when you tell him not to kill himself, that he won't?"

I nod. "Cordy, I need him. He's the only one left in the Order of Aurelius that I can still have contact with. You know if I ever see Dru again, I'll probably be forced to stake her, and Darla and Penn are gone."

She frowns. "He and Dru are the only ones left? Weren't there more of you?"

I shake my head. "Minions. They don't belong to the Order. They're just servants. We were all pretty picky about who we turned as childer. Darla turned only me. I turned Penn and Dru. Dru turned Spike. They're the only childer of the Order, as far as I know."

She nods. "I guess I can understand."

I smile at her, a little painfully. "I hope so."

She fixes me with a stare. "That doesn't mean I like it, or approve, or any of those things, though."

I give her an amused smile now. "I promise I won't think that."

"Good."

There's a long silence, and then she stands to exit the room. I follow her with my eyes, and when she gets to the door, she pauses. "Angel?"

"Yeah?"

"Um..."

"What is it, Cordy?"  
"Nothing." She walks out.

I wonder briefly what she wanted to talk about, but knowing Cordelia, it was probably completely unrelated. She has a tendency to jump from topic to topic, rather quickly and without warning. I think it's just how her mind works. There's a lot going on in there, contrary to both popular opinion and physical appearances.

I follow her a moment later, tossing the keys to Spike's handcuffs from one hand to the other, back and forth. I pause in front of my wayward childer and just look him up and down for a moment. He pretends to ignore me.

Lapsing into a thick Irish brogue, I start to pace directly in front of him. "If I let ye go, will ye be good, boy?"

Spike spits. At least, this time it's at my feet and not my face. I still slap him upside the head.

Then I grab his head with both hands, one on each side, and force him to meet my gaze. His blue eyes are filled with defiance, but there's a grudging respect there, too. Good. I probably won't have to use any really harsh tactics on him. Things that I was hoping to avoid, considering that the mildest of vampiric domination already has my crew squirming in their seats. "That's not very respectful, me lad."

He glares at me. "Since when did I care about respect?"

I shrug. "I don't know. Maybe ye should, though. Considerin' ye put yer life in me hands."

His eyes drop, but rise to meet mine again, far too quickly. He hasn't given it any real thought, that was just an instinctual reaction.

Reaching down, I open the cuffs on one wrist, and he jerks his hand away from me as quickly as I can get the metal loop open. Silently, I unlock the other, and he steps away from me, rubbing his wrists and glaring, then shaking his hands to make a big show out of the minor discomfort I put him through. What I really hurt, the only thing I hurt, was his pride.

But he has to know that when he came here to put his life in my hands, that it was then free for me to do with as I pleased. And that includes anything I want to do other than killing him, too. Spike may not be much for vampire rules and traditions, but I'm sure he remembers that part, considering what he did, coming here.

He stalks away from me, and I let him go. He retreats into his room and starts piling things up against the door on the inside. Then he remembers this is futile, considering that the door opens outward, and there are distinct sounds of things shattering. The crew looks to me, they're my things that Spike is destroying, and because I ignore it, they sit back and do the same.

I smell cigarette smoke a moment later, and curse softly under my breath. Somehow my childe got a hold of his lighter again. Or found another. I took away his lighter, but I didn't take away the pack of cigarettes because I figured they were useless. I should know better by now. This is Spike, after all. However, I still make no move towards the door, determined to let my childe calm down a bit more before I spring the rest of tonight's unwelcome rules on him.

He does his very best to annoy me for the next two hours. He plays the stereo extremely loudly, so I cut power to the room. He curses, kicks something and destroys more of my property, then starting singing loudly and off-key, probably drunk since he actually has a nice voice. I turn the power back on, and he watches some kind of sports match on television, crowing and cursing and otherwise being obnoxious as he does so.

At quarter to midnight, it's time to turn in. Gunn is gone, Fred's in her room. Cordy disappeared an hour ago, Wesley's packing up to leave. It's just me, my vampire childe, and my biological son.

I knock on the door to the room before stepping in, giving him no time to reply. 

"Hey!"

I don't respond to his indignant outburst, simply point towards the door. "Out."

He glares at me. "What the hell for?"

"Because I said so."

He gives me a look that says 'Are you really that stupid?' and I simply stare him down. Eventually, he gives in and exits the room, stopping in the lobby to glare at me some more.

I smile a little, laced slightly with un-disguised malice. "Good. Now, upstairs."

He glares at me, but goes, silently.

When I lead him to my room, he goes instantly crazy. "What?! No, I'm not staying with you, you homosexual pervert!"

I give him a wry look. "Relax, Will. I'm not going to grope you up."

He stands his ground determinedly. "I'm not going in there, Peaches," He informs me.

I smile a little, letting just a bit more of Angelus enter my facial expression. "Yes, you are," I tell him.

He has guts, always has. So he stares at me, and then tells me, like I were a little child, "No. I'm. Bloody. NOT!"

I sigh, tiring of this, and kick the door open with my free foot. Then I grab him and shove him roughly into the room, slamming the door behind me and barring it with my body. "Yes, you are."

He lands on the floor on his side and glares up at me. I don't think I've seen that expression leave his face for more than a few seconds the whole time he's been here. I don't actually like dominating him, contrary to what I'm sure he thinks. I'm not Angelus, and I don't get off on the power of it. But Spike won't listen to anyone he doesn't respect, and as twisted as it is, this is the only way to earn his respect. He's a vampire, after all.

I point to a corner of the room, two hooks held in the wall, a couple feet over Spike's head. His gaze follows my finger, and then follows it again, as I point to the bed. "Those are your choices, Spike. The chains, in which you can spend the entire night hanging by your wrists, which I'm sure are already pretty bruised, or the bed, where you'll wake me up if you try to leave. Choose."

"You think I'm going to sleep in the same bed with you? Are you insane?"

I shrug. "Alright, the chains it is." Picking him up by the nape of his collar, I drag him across the room and affix him carelessly into the chains. He's just a bit too short for this, and I know his wrists are taking too much weight. It pains me to leave him this way, but I do it anyway. He pretends like it's not bothering him at all, and I head off to get ready for bed and check on my son.

I return to the bedroom fifteen minutes later and crawl under the covers, assured that Conner is fine. I purposely face away from Spike, so that he doesn't think I'm keeping an eye on him, since he and I can see extraordinarily well in the dark. No sound comes from that corner of the room for half an hour, at which time I'm starting to get sleepy, and doze off.

A slight sound wakes me a few hours later, nothing more than a little sigh. My first thought is for Conner, but he's sound asleep, I can see his crib from where I lie. I turn to face my other offspring, and watch him silently for a moment, waiting for him to become aware that I'm looking at him.

But he doesn't notice, and I hear the sighing sound again, only this time, there's a little more of a catch in it, and I realize with a start that Spike's crying. Not hard, but crying nonetheless. 

Standing silently, I pad over to where he is. He doesn't notice me as I approach, too caught up in his own misery. It isn't the pain, he's been through a lot worse than this. It's the indignity, the pain, and the depression together. He's thoroughly cowed. Tear-tracks run down his cheeks, and he's biting his lower lip.

Grabbing the keys, his eyes open at the first jangle, and he looks at me, his eyes dead and uncaring. Watching impassively as I unlock first one hand, and then the other, draw him to me and hold him tight. Rub his wrists softly, trying to take away some of the ache.

I walk him slowly over to my bed, and put him gently into it. He curls up like a small child, and I can almost imagine him sucking his thumb. I crawl in behind his lithe but tiny body, and wrap my own around it. He snuggles back into my form, and tosses his head a little as he tries to get comfortable.

Forty-five minutes later, I'm thoroughly exhausted and ready for sleep, but haven't allowed myself to drop off, because Spike is still breathing, a sure sign he's awake. He's still, just lying there, curled up against my front, snuggled in the blankets up to his neck, though just like any other vampire, he can't get cold.

Shifting a little, I sigh, and dig my right arm out from under the blankets. Vamping my face, I bring it up to my mouth and pierce it slightly with one fang, a deep puncture wound, fairly large, but not a cut. Blood flows from it steadily, but not strongly. 

Reaching around my childe, I rest my arm on his ribs so that I don't have to hold it up. Then I press the bleeding wound to his mouth, something I haven't done in more than a hundred and fifteen years. Only when Will was a very young fledgling, before he even turned five, did he ever take comfort in this form. But now he latches on, nuzzling my wrist with his nose even as he takes care not to spill a drop. The wound is severe enough that as he suckles at it, it will continue to bleed for about five or six minutes before vampiric healing kicks in and it cuts off. Hopefully long enough to lull him to sleep, just like the old days.

The sensation of him pulling on my wrist with his lips, sucking steadily but not too strongly, is enough to bring about considerable nostalgia. As a fledge, Will used to never be able to sleep during the day, despite not sleeping a wink at night, ever. Angelus used this particular technique quite often, and though Darla disapproved considerably, telling him to stop coddling William, he found it worked well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

****

London, 1880

This was five or six months after Dru had turned William, and we were still in London. The pickings were good, London was a large city and the occasional missing or dead person didn't turn up the same kind of suspicion that it would in a smaller town. So we stayed, figuring it was as good a place as any to teach William the ways of the vampires.

Not to mention that each of us had been given a chance to take revenge on our families after we'd been turned, and were trying to give William a chance to do the same. He never did, surprisingly enough. William stayed remarkably human during this time, taking it hard that he was now a vampire. The bloodlust ensured that he fed, but other than that, he was determined to remain in a human lifestyle. It was a trying time on all of us. Dru was especially sad that her new toy wasn't an evil fiend, and I considered staking Will a few times myself, never imagining that 'William the Bloody Awful Poet' could some day turn into Spike, master vampire.

It was about noon, and Darla and Dru were sprawled out on one bed in the huge bedroom of the house we'd appropriated, after eating the inhabitants. Dru was rocking and moaning, but fast asleep, and Darla was dead still, looking all the world like what she was, a corpse. 

William was at the boarded-over window, looking at the wood planks like he could see through them.

I rose from my bed slowly, miffed that I had to go collect the fledgling again. William was forever getting into trouble, even though he didn't mean to, at this point anyway. Later, he would cause plenty of chaos on purpose, but at this point, he was simply trying to adjust to his new lifestyle as a vampire, and the fact that he now had people to answer to for the first time in his life. Sure, as a human he'd had parents, but William was twenty-three when Dru turned him, and had long-since been on his own. And parents are a little different than vampire sires, as well.

I grabbed his arm roughly, without a word, and dragged him back to bed. He went, willingly enough, and laid beside me on the bed, facing away, for the next hour, softly breathing the whole time.

Eventually, I got fed up. "Would ye stop that infernal noise, boy!"

"I can't."

"What do ye mean ye can't?"  
He turned to face me, keeping his eyes down like a proper fledge. "I can't, Sire. When I try, I choke like I'm still alive."

I sighed, knowing it was true, and motioned for him to turn away once again. He did so quickly, knowing by then, the wrath of not listening to Angelus, the Scourge of Europe.

Slitting my wrist quickly and efficiently on my fang, I pressed the dripping cut to William's mouth. He didn't protest, but didn't take it, either, for a long moment. "Suck, boy!"

Complying quickly, he sucked on the cut for a few moments. I listened to his progress, and then issued another instruction. "Now, stop breathing."

William tried his best, but coughed and choked the same as he always did. The cut on my wrist was closed by then, so I re-opened it, and handed it back to him. "Try again."

He did, and this time, though his body shook with the effort at first, managed to stop breathing. I congratulated him. "That's it, boy." When he didn't turn to look at me, I propped myself up on one elbow to look at him. My wrist still clutched to his mouth with one hand, his throat still suckling like a child on a breast, not breathing, William was fast asleep.

I allowed myself a rare smile, and murmured softly more to myself than to the sleeping fledge. "Ah, so that's what it takes to put ye to sleep, aye, William?"

Then, allowing him to keep my wrist, I lay back down behind him and fell into a deep slumber myself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

****

Los Angeles, 2002

Having learned that about Will, I used it far more often than Darla approved of. She didn't seem to mind him getting no sleep because he couldn't seem to make his body conform to vampiric standards, but I couldn't abide by it. It was cruel not to teach a fledgling how to deal with his new unlife, whether it was by acting or not acting. And Angelus, though he was one cruel bastard, didn't like to have things out of his control.

Now, as I listen to his breathing lull and fall off, I run through my head all the wonderful moments William and I shared over the time. A couple of years ago, when Spike first got the chip, I wanted to help him adjust, I really wanted to. But I'd known that Spike would never have accepted me, and I couldn't have dealt with more things in my life (or unlife, anyway) at that point, anyway. Leaving Buffy to her own devices was tough enough.

It pains me to think about it, because in a lot of ways I am still a vampire, and what they did to Spike is unthinkable to a vampire, but at the same time, I was glad when I got the news. Glad that there was one of my childer around that I wouldn't have to kill. Glad that I wouldn't have to go through that agony that was my life after killing Darla, the first time, and watching her kill herself, the second. I have a soul now, and I can never allow myself to abide by how Darla, Dru and Penn live and lived, but that doesn't mean I don't remember how things used to be, wish that they could be that simple again sometimes.

There's a price to pay for having a soul, and it's a pretty small one, I think, if this is all it is. But it hurts. It hurts to have a catch to something that means so much to me, to not be able to live my life alongside my love. It hurts to know that Conner will always wonder who his father is, whether he's the man I am now, or the monster I once was, and the monster I was behaving like when he was conceived. 

But most of all, it hurt that I had to leave behind the ones I loved. I ran with Darla for a hundred and forty-something _years_. That isn't time easily erased from a person's memory, and I longed to go back to her so many times, even after that little episode with the baby, in China. My childer had joined the pack later, but they were _mine_. Made of my will, brought forth into their new forms by _my_ blood. Equally important to me as my sire, if not more so.

And I had to leave it all. I imagine it's akin to being told that your whole family are mass murderers, and if you continue to live with them and associate with them, you have to be a mass murderer, too. It tore me apart for so long that I couldn't help how I felt when Spike was chipped. Couldn't help that little bit of me that always hoped he'd come around to the fight for good, that I could have one of my childer fight alongside me, and I could spend time with him and not be alone in my plight. 

This is hardly how I'd imagined it would play out, though.

Spike is so weak now, his will is breaking. Buffy really did a number on him. He's not gone- I watch that twinkle in his eyes every once in a while, and it makes me want to smile, knowing that my impatient William is still in there somewhere, but he's broken. Spike would never let himself behave like this, I have no doubt it's William in my arms right now.

A vampire bond is stronger than a family bond. It's a blood bond, but it's stronger than that, too. It's a life bond, but it's stronger than that. Fledges aren't allowed to speak to or even be around vampires other than their immediate family. Slightly older vampires are forbidden from spending time with other vamps. Only when a vampire becomes a master, is he or she allowed to choose to spend time with other vampires not from the clan. It's a binding rule, but it works. By the time a vampire is a master, their only loyalty is to their family. 

At least, that's the way it's supposed to work. I think Spike and I stepped out of the loop a little. And Penn, somewhat. Darla always told me that my incredibly stubborn-ness was passed on every time I turned a childer. I asked her what the explanation for William was, then. She'd just laughed and told me that Will was a creature of his own. She'd always hated him, but I think that was partly because she saw what he was, what he had to potential to be.

Spike stirs in his sleep next to me, interrupting my thoughts, and I lie still, hoping he'll stay asleep. When he does, I relax a little. Then I feel his face change, and his fangs against my wrist. Surprised, I fight the urge to yank it away from him. He doesn't do anything though, just lies there in his game face, and gradually I relax again.

We lie there for long moments, me just thinking, Spike fast asleep. I'm drifting off when he changes positions a little, and my wrist falls from his mouth. It's no longer bleeding, the wound has clotted over and will be healed by tomorrow night, but just the same, when it falls out of his grasp, he whimpers and starts to fidget.

I smile at him, and pull him around so that he's facing me. His hand goes out blindly, and touches my chest. When he's found me, he snuggles up to me as close as he can, his head in my chest and his body curled along mine. I smile, knowing that he's been sleeping through all of this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When we awaken in the morning, Spike is breathing again, and though he's resting away from me now, touching as little of my body as is possible, I know he's awake. "Good morning, Will."

He doesn't respond for a moment, and then mutters his answer under his breath. "Why are we bloody-well awake in the morning anyway?"

I smile a little. "I'm awake because I have to go spend the day with Conner. What's your excuse?"

Sheepishly, he speaks under his breath again. "Can't sleep."

"Well, you can come spend the day with me, then." He doesn't react negatively as quickly as he would have a couple of days ago, so I push my advantage. After last night, he's feeling the pull of the sire-childe bond much stronger than he has in years. Probably stronger than it has been in a hundred years. I remind myself not to underestimate its power; that Spike hasn't felt this draw in more than a century.

He shrugs as best as he can, lying down in the bed on his side. "'Kay."

We lie there for long moments longer, and eventually I hoist myself out of bed in one long movement. Spike stays there, his blue eyes watching every move I make. It isn't a sensation I've felt since I left the pack, but it's not wholly unpleasant, and I let him watch.

Sire-childe bonds are a funny thing. Some of them turn out more like siblings, some more like mates, some more like human children. Darla turned me with the intention of getting a mate and someone to train and turn into a master vampire, but she never allowed either of us to forget that power she held over me. In that way, she was more like a parent to me than a lot of people who study us, watchers mostly, realize.

Dru was insane by the time I turned her. She was childlike and because of that, she elicited a lot of protective behavior from me, and later, when she'd grown on her grandsire, Darla. But she came to my bed, and in that way we weren't at all like parent and child. 

Penn was a tricky one. He was stubborn and wanted nothing but to be on his own. I sat on him a _lot_. He never did learn to be respectful, though, and one day he up and left. Penn was the most 'child'-like childe in our family, in terms of how the rest of us treated him. For him, Darla was the distant authority figure, I was the immediate authority figure, and Dru was a fuck-toy. He always acted like an adolescent, no matter how old he got. He was a fair amount like Spike, actually, and sometimes I wonder if Dru saw that in William when she chose him to turn.

Spike... well, he was a tricky one. Surprisingly, sometimes Darla would allow him into her bed, but only for the purpose of teaching him. I never heard him come once during those little 'sessions', it was only my sire's screams that filled the air. He was protective of Dru, and in return she worshiped him. He had no use for Penn, and he didn't really know him anyway. Penn was pretty independent by the time William came along, joining the pack only occasionally and unpredictably, for short periods of time.

I don't know what our relationship really was, to be honest. We were never intimate, but we could have been. In a vampire community, it wouldn't have been frowned on in the least, and I certainly never found him lacking in attractiveness. I think it was my desire to keep domination separate from sex, something that was fairly rare in the vampiric world, that kept us apart.

But a lot of evenings, when we got up, William would lie in bed as long as I'd let him, just watching me pad around naked, and I can't say that neither of us ever got aroused from it. We just never did anything about it, together anyway.

I'm done dressing now, and I turn back to the bed to see Spike just watching me with clear eyes and a blank expression. Throwing him his pants, I turn to head out the door. "Up, boy! Meet me in the kitchen." I throw the door shut behind me again before he can respond.

* * *

[1] [2] [3] [4]

* * *

Back to _A Little Part of the Buffiverse_

Back to _A Little Part of the Buffiverse_ Fanfic


	5. Chapter Five

* * *

****

Not Invincible

by

Princess McPhee

* * *

Disclaimer: Not mine. Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt aren't me. Not even the right gender. So, therefore, I don't own.

Author's Note: Ideas from just about every Angel or Spike fic on the planet. So, if an idea very closely resembles yours, please don't take offense.

Chapter Note: I finally decided. Please, no flames about my decision to make this S/A. If you don't like it, you've been duly warned, though I hope you'll continue reading!

Summary: Spike goes to Angel, after Buffy beats up on him the latest time. AU from there.

Rating: R

* * *

Chapter Five

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike appears, five minutes later, dressed in a pair of raggedy old black jeans, his Doc Martins, and one of my black, button-up silk shirts. He's taken the tails of the too-big shirt and tied them together behind his back, he's wearing it over the top of a white undershirt, and the whole outfit has this kind of Billy Idol-meets-Mobster look. His hair is flat against his head again, a change from the unruly half-curls half-spikes that it turns into overnight.

I don't comment on the clothes. The shirt's expensive, but I don't want to break my boy. Just make him see who's in charge. If I don't care about the shirt, he can do with it what he likes. If I have feelings about the shirt, he better damn well abide by them. So, I pretend I don't have a lick of feelings one way or the other about the 200-dollar silk he's tied into a knot.

It's early, and no one is around yet. Fred's door is still locked, she keeps strange hours and I never know when she'll be awake. Cordy won't be in till noon unless she has a vision. Wes should be here at office hours, about eight-thirty, and Gunn will troll in to check on things a little after that, and then disappear again until we need him. My crew, or Wesley's crew, whoever's it is, they know the routine.

Besides, bad things tend to happen in spurts. When it's quiet, it's _quiet_. And when there's trouble brewing, it comes one bad piece of news after the other. Right now, the only thing that's going on is Spike, and for me, this is the quietest of the quiet times. Nothing is happening, amazingly enough. And that _never_ happens in LA. It makes me faintly suspicious.

It would be just like Wes or Cordy, or possibly both of them, to decide that I needed a break, and keep me from the cases they're working. But they've tried before, and neither is very good at lying. Or, it could just be that vampire senses are better at detecting the subtle things that go along with lying, such as twitching, sweating and not meeting a person's eyes.

Spike distracts me from this depth of thought with one of his usually sarcastic comments. "Are you gonna get that blood out of the micro in the next century or two, Peaches? Cause if you don't, you'll just have to run it through all over again." Good to see my boy hasn't lost all sense of touch with his present self, after last night.

I pull the mugs of blood from the microwave and set them on the table. Spike shakes his head. "Not hungry, mate." He doesn't elaborate on that, but I know what he's talking about. And I also know why I'm ravenous this morning.

I drink both mugs of blood and fish through the paper for anything unusual that could possibly have supernatural origins. Spike grabs the comics, and starts reading, his booted feet on the table, his chair tipped back and my shirt bunched up and straining at the seams. This morning, I know if I sent him the right look, he'd obey instantly. There's something about sire's blood that does that to you. But the thing is, he doesn't recognize that he's doing anything wrong. He's just Spike... being Spike. So I don't comment.

When I'm through circling suspicious occurrences with a red pen, I put the paper back on the table, grab three manila folders, and start case files for all of them. They're not necessarily supernatural happenings, but if I even start to investigate them, I keep files on them. Makes it easier to find notes and stuff if it turns into a real case.

Spike finishes with the comics section and drops it back on the table. Then he takes the rest of the newspaper from under my elbow, and starts flipping through it. He guffaws as soon as he finds my red-circled articles. "Peaches, this guy got his ass kicked by some gang or another 'cause he didn't pay up," he says, condescendingly. "It ain't your jurisdiction."

I don't look up. "Maybe, maybe not. But it says that there were strange marks on the body, and the gang members said he was extremely strong. I'm going to look into it, just in case."

Spike rolls his eyes. "Angelus, the guy got some tattoos and did a little body-building. So what? He's dead, ain't he?"

I finally glance up, and meet his gaze. "His family could want retribution. And demons seeking retribution usually want to do bad things to humans. I'm going to look into it."

Spike shrugs. "Suit yourself."

"I will, thank you very much."

Conner's cries take me from my seat and send me upstairs, where I change and dress my son, then return to the dinner table. As soon as he's settled into his high chair, his cries become gurgling, and pretty quickly, happy bubbling. The baby cereal goes everywhere, but Conner has a blast, and I don't mind cleaning up. The benefits of having wanted something for so long: when you finally get it, you're willing to put up with the flaws.

Spike, on the other hand, has different thoughts on the matter. "Hey, Peaches," He says, "you never let me get away with that!"

I look at Spike, trying to convey the insanity of that statement back to him. "You were twenty-three years old, Spike," I tell him. He shrugs.

"Not like you treated me like it."

I roll my eyes. "Did you deserve it?"

He cocks his head at me, and then shrugs again. "Probably not. But then, back to why you never let me act like that?" He points at Conner.

I sigh, trying to convey the amount of immaturity that I feel this conversation holds. Spike just grins and goes back to the articles in the paper.

A few moments later, while I'm cleaning up Conner's mess, and he's giggling and gesturing wildly with pudgy arms in the high chair, Spike breaks into laughter again. Conner squeals, always glad to see someone in a good mood, and waves his arms in my childe's direction. 

"Peaches... this is even.... more bloody.... ridiculous... than that deadbeat!" He manages in between guffaws. 

I don't bother to ask what his explanation for this is, I'm sure he'll tell me without any prompting.

"He went paint-balling and then got run over! And for that matter of fact, what's so bloody strange about a paint-y guy getting hit by a car, anyway?"

Sure enough.

"Spike, it's not every day that someone literally covered in blue and red paint gets run over," I explain. "We investigate anything strange and possibly supernatural. That falls into the previously outlined category, don't you think?"

He shakes his head and opens his mouth. Before he can speak, I cut him off. "And what's paint-balling anyway, Spike?"

His jaw drops, and he makes a big show out of looking theatrically amused. "You don't know what paint-balling is?"

I sigh, roll my eyes, and shake my head, sure that I'm about to be subjected to another lecture on one of the many things I missed out on about the twenty-first century. Instead, Spike smirks, and my non-beating heart drops. This is not a good look, at least not when it's on my childe's face.

"Well, I'll just have to show you, then, won't I?"  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Spike, I'm not sure this is a good idea."

"Why?"

"Because you refused to tell me what it involves!"

He smirks. "Are you going to chicken out, Peaches?"

I shake my head, the bit of pride I have left firmly in place. "No."

He throws my coat at me. "Good. Then let's go."

Leaving Conner with Fred and Gunn, I catch the coat and follow my childe reluctantly. Wesley's in the office, and he smiles at me as we pass by. "Have a good time!" He calls.

Spike smirks in that way that makes me want to tie him up and torture him until he tells me what he's thinking. "Don't worry, Watcher, I'll make sure Peaches here lets out the fun-vampire for at least a little while."

I'm really in for it.

A drive to the crime-scene is not what I expected. Spike parks on the side of the road and jumps out of the car, heading for a building next to us. I stare at the ground, my powerful senses catching a whiff of human blood still stuck to the pavement, even after several hundred cars passed over this stretch of road on their way to work this morning.

"C'mon!" My impatient childe calls. I reluctantly join him at the door, and he leads me into a small office. "Two admissions to the soonest session," he tells the woman at the front desk. "And whole gear-sets."

I look at the prices displayed in front of me for something I still don't understand. "And just who's paying for this, Will?"

He grins up at me. "Why, you are, Angelus!"

I sigh, and hand him my credit card. It's not as if I'm poor, I might as well let Spike have his day of fun. And I admit, I'm getting a little intrigued. 

Once Spike has squared away the admission and 'gear', with my money, he leads me into a dressing room. Promptly stripping down to nothing but his boxers and undershirt, he pulls on the coverall, zipping it quickly up the front. He looks over at me. "Well? What are you doing just standing there! Get changed."

Reluctantly, I change into another one of the suits, and Spike hands me goggles, like the ones welder's use. He puts them on, and I follow suit, even more recalcitrantly. What the hell are we doing?

Heading out the door into what looks like it used to be a huge warehouse, I look around as Spike procures bags full of something for us. The room is huge, easily three times as big as the lobby of the Hyperion, which is already pretty good-sized. The floor is dirt, but in places concrete shows, so they must have trucked a whole bunch of dirt in here and laid it down. There's a big hay pile in one corner, about twice as tall as me, and a bunch of pipes and paint-splattered wooden climbing structures throughout the room. 

My examination of the space is interrupted by my childe. "Here," he says, handing me a bag. "Your first lesson in paint-ball."

He reaches into my bag and pulls a ball of some kind out. It's gooey and loosely held together, and I look at it oddly. He hands it to me, and it smears my hand with paint. Meanwhile, he's gotten one of his own out of his bag. "This," he says, pointing, "is a paint-ball."

"I think I figured that out, Spike."

He ignores me. "I throw paint-balls at you, you throw paint-balls at me, we run around and hide and see who's better at dodging the balls, and have a good ol' time."

I look at him dubiously.

"Oh c'mon Angelus! Don't be a spoilsport." He breaks out the pouty lip. "Please?"

I sigh. "Alright, alright. What do we do?"

"Is your old brain too feeble to remember what I said just a few seconds ago?" He asks.

"Spike..."

"Okay, okay. I'll behave. Here. You go to that end" he points to the far corner of the room, "and I'll stand right here." He motions, and I jog away.

Once I get to the corner of the room, I turn around to find Spike, not too unexpectedly, gone. Turning slowly, extending my senses, I look for him.

All of a sudden, a wet splat hits the middle of my chest. I look down in surprise, and then up into the laughing eyes of my childe, standing mostly behind a wooden structure and watching me.

Suddenly, something comes over me, and my hand's in the bag of yucky paint-balls, grabbing three and hauling them out. Spike obviously sees something in my eyes, because he ducks behind the structure and dashes away as I come towards him at a dead run. Swinging the paint-balls with all the strength I can muster, enough to knock out a human, I nail Spike on the back with the green and yellow ones, the red one missing his elbow by just the narrowest of margins.

With my childe on the run, I take the chance to throw a bunch more paintballs at him. Only about a third of them hit him. After all, I may have vampiric strength and aim, but Spike is using _his_ vampiric speed to get out of the way, so it evens things out more than a little bit. 

The game only goes on for the next twenty minutes, though it seems like much longer. Spike becomes a laughing, pointing, little boy nothing like his usual self, and I crack several more smiles than usual. Something about being covered in paint does that to you.

Finally, things wind down. Spike's out of paint-balls, and the buzzer's just about to ring. I throw the last few at him, but he dodges and they miss, and I'm out too. The bell rings loudly, and I walk slowly towards the locker room. The attendant at the door takes our empty paint-ball bags, and starts to fill them with more in preparation for the next group of crazy people who want to throw them at each other. Spike and I just walk tiredly into the locker room and strip out of our paint-covered overalls and goggles. A bin by the door says that used 'equipment' should go there, so we drop the gear inside, grab two towels from the pile, and head to the showers at the other end of the room.

I've seen Spike naked many, many times. I raised him, ran with him for twenty years, and have been his enemy for the past hundred-plus. I've seen him naked a _lot_. But somehow, it's a whole different thing when there's this new vibe between us, one of perhaps unexpected, but much present mutual respect. And as the water sluices down his lean body, my eyes devour him.

He seems to know this, as he leans back into the stream of water with a grin on his face, and swings his arms at his side so that I can see all of him from where I'm standing. I don't look away, as odd as this moment is.

Slowly, his eyes open, and the blue depths that are usually so twinkly, but hard at the same time, are sleepy and calm right now. He seems to like having me look at him this way. At the very least, he's a lot more relaxed than I am.

The water beats down on us for long moments before I reluctantly pull myself back to the real world, and wash the paint off as thoroughly as possible. I scrub the shampoo through my hair and rinse it out, watching Spike mirror my movements whenever possible. 

We're almost done, and my childe turns his other side to water, turning his back to me. He rinses his hair quickly, efficiently, but misses a spot of bright red paint on the back of his head, near the hairline. "Will," I say softly, not wanting to break this mood, whatever it may be. "There's paint on your neck."

He just looks at me for a long moment and his eyes are hazy. I can't tell what he's thinking. Then he takes the few steps across the room to my shower, and turns his back to me. "Show me?"

I don't know what the hell we're doing. But I soap up my hands, and then run them gently through the curls on the back of his neck. The paint is stuck on, and I have to rub softly, tugging a little at the skin, to get it off. Spike lets his head loll forward a little, and a shiver runs through his body. I put it down to the cold of standing out of the shower. I don't want to think about the other things it could mean, right now.

Yet I continue until there's not a trace of red paint left in my childe's hair, and when that's done, I lovingly rinse his head, like I do for Conner. "There."

Wrapped in towels, we head back to the lockers, where we retrieve our clothing. I change into my clothes immediately, but Spike drops his on a chair, takes the towel from around his body and starts rubbing his hair dry with it. 

Finally, when we're finished dressing, Spike pulls something from the pocket of his black jeans and squeezes something from the tube into his hands. Streaking it through his hair, he makes it lie down flat again, getting rid of that mussed little-boy look. It almost makes me sad, but I love the flat, gelled look too, so it doesn't bother me much.

Returning to the Hyperion, Spike does his usual, stupid dash for the front door. He still hasn't clued into this fact that he's a vampire and could burn himself to a crisp that way. Sometimes he genuinely worries me when he does that. Of course, there's really no better way to go out during the daytime, but still... he could just _not_. Go out in the daytime.

Fred comes into the room, a big smile on her face. "Hi, Angel! And Spike." She looks between us, less thrilled to see my childe than me, but not letting it get in the way of grinning with happiness the whole time. This is not a good sign. I wonder what Conner's gotten into that she's so happy to see me.

"Hey, Fred." Pause. Then the question that I don't really want to ask. "How's Conner?"

"Asleep." With that, she watches us for a moment longer, crazy grin never fluctuating, and then pads off into the next room on her tiptoes, like a dancer. 

"Crazy little thing," Spike says from behind me, but his voice holds affection, surprisingly. "Kind o' reminds me of Anya."

I nod, though I don't know what I'm agreeing to. I met Anya a time or two because of who she had been, but she wasn't a big part of the Scoobies when I was in Sunnydale. I do remember that she was... quirky. Being abruptly relieved of your demon-hood after a thousand years will do that to you, I suspect.

Out of the side of my vision, I see Cordy poke her head out of the office, Fred right next to her. They seem to be looking at us, but I ignore them. Maybe they'll go away if they see we're just being boring.

Unfortunately, Cordy doesn't seem to think we're being boring. I don't know how she figures that, all we're doing is standing in the front lobby, but a grin spreads across her face, and Fred, giggling at something, whispers in her ear. They duck back around the corner and into the office once more, and I shake my head.

"Bints gone?" Spike asks. He never ceases to amaze me with his powers of perception. He wasn't even looking in that direction and he could sense they were watching us. I nod, not even objecting to his terminology when applied to my ex-employees. He drapes his coat over his arm and stomps noisily up the stairs.

"Spike!" 

He turns, one eyebrow raised.

"Quiet. Conner's asleep." He rolls his eyes, but moves much more stealthily. I watch his back retreat. He's probably going to catch a nap- even vampires accustomed to sleeping in the night find it much more comfortable to slumber during the daylight hours. Being awake during the day results in kind of a slowed, sleepy function, which helps prevent vampires from going crazy during the summer when the days are at their longest. Though it never stopped Will or Dru from attempting to drive me and Darla insane.

I retreat to the study with a new tome I picked up at a used bookstore around here. They had no idea of the value of the text, and sold it for a very low price. It's an encyclopedia of vampire families, and worth several thousand dollars to the right people. I'm only glad that the council didn't get their hands on it, because a lot of the information is inaccurate and/or out of date. But still, it's an entertaining read, and will provide some guesses to fill in the holes in the histories of some more infamous lines.

Around two, three hours after Spike and I got back from the paint-ball place, Conner awakens with loud cries. Cordelia appears in the doorway. "Do you want me to get him, Angel?" She asks.

I shake my head, already on my feet. "I've got it." She nods and retreats, going back to whatever it is she was doing. I think it was painting her nails. Cordelia really is a useful employee, but sometimes there's just nothing to do. Like now.

I head up the stairs two at a time, my tall frame making it much less awkward than it looks. Leaning over Conner and cooing at him, I calm him down enough to stop the ear-splitting cries, but he's still fussy. I lift him from his crib, change his diaper, feed him a bottle and walk around singing 'Rock-a-bye-baby' before he settles down again.

Cordelia appears again and wants to take him off my hands. "Fred and I are going to the park," She says. "Want us to take him with?"

I nod. "Sure. I think he's up for a while, so that might be a good idea." I hand him over to her, and watch as she disappears down the stairs, baby-talking to him all the way. He coos and giggles, waving a little fist, and she grins. I crack my own smile, something of a rarity. There's nothing in the world like being a father.

Spike appears behind me, his hair mussed and his eyes blinking rapidly, still half-asleep. He yawns, not bothering to raise his hand to hide it, and blinks again. "That kid has a set of lungs on him, that's for sure." I nod, and we stand there in companionable silence for a while.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Days pass, and I think Spike and I have reached kind of a balance. He's willing to respect me so far, and I'm willing to respect him so far. Sometimes, when our frustration is high and our patience is low, the middle doesn't meet in either category, but most of the time we make do. And when we just can't manage, Spike ruins or breaks something, and then I get to yell at him without feeling guilty, and we're okay again.

My crew, Wesley's crew, whoever they are, are getting used to having a platinum-blond, blood-drinking, alcohol chugging, cigarette smoking annoyance around. He takes endless joy in taunting them, but stays a careful distance from Gunn, who still watches warily with his hand on a weapon whenever my childe's in the room. He senses that Gunn means business, and will stake him, no matter what he might mean to me, if he gets out of line.

The night after the paint-ball fiasco, Spike slept in his own bed again, downstairs. I didn't think I needed to worry about him running off after the reaffirmation of the bond the previous night, and I was right, for once. Of course, I awoke to find things burning in the kitchen instead, but at least I didn't have to go trouncing around in the sewers to find him.

Blood-sharing between a sire and childe is a powerful thing. True, it's Drusilla's blood that first ran through Spike's veins, but since then, it's always been mine, and the difference is now barely noticeable. The call of the liquid red is nearly tangible to a fledgling, I recall clearly. And its power exists still, even on a master vampire such as Spike and me.

Between vampires, blood-sharing has three main purposes: Sex, power, and healing. When it's used for healing, all of the energy goes to heal the vampire, and the bond tie is only slightly involved. When it's used for power, that's when the bond tie is reaffirmed the most. When the childe is most vulnerable to his or her sire. It depends on the strength of the vampire, how soon it wears off.

And then, there's sexual blood exchange. For the childe, the effect is roughly the same as if power were the objective. For the sire, though, it's different. It's this immense feeling of connection, this almost physical link to the other vampire, accompanied by an incredible high. Occasionally non-related vampires, or vampires with generations between them do exchange blood during sex, but it doesn't provide this high.

Then, not only are there several uses for blood-sharing, there are several ways vampires share blood. A neck-bite is always involved in changing or marking. Neck-bites are sometimes involved in sex, but it's always the sire biting the childe. If the childe is allowed to drink the sire's blood at all, it can be anywhere the elder vampire allows it- except the neck. 

I breached this protocol about ninety-five years ago. It didn't bother me any more than any of the other rules of vampire lore I broke.

Most commonly, a childe is invited to drink from a sire's wrist. I guess there's just something about a neck-bite that automatically makes the one biting dominant, and vampires are very hierarchical creatures. Childer are _never_ allowed to even make a play at dominating their sires.

Of course, since there isn't really a vampire police or anything, the rules really go uninformed by anyone except the sire in question. Which means that for sure, I am not the only vampire to have broken many of them. For instance, I never had a problem with allowing Drusilla to dominate me to some degree, because she was insane. It just didn't bother my alpha sense. On the other hand, I never would have taken it from Spike, and Darla never took it from me. So, it's more of a personal thing. 

Kind of like parenting.

After Spike has served my (_Wesley's_, Wesley's!) crew their semi-burnt breakfast and swiped one of the donuts Cordy brought, ignoring his own painful concoction, he throws a bag of blood in the microwave to heat, and sits down beside me. "Good morning, little guy!" He says to Conner, in my arms. "You like pancakes?"

I look at him. "Spike, he's four months old."

Spike shrugs, then frowns, ignoring me entirely. "You don't really have any teeth, though, do you?" He peers at Conner's mouth, trying to see. "Oh, well. Guess you're gonna have to get a little older, huh, pet?" He hasn't spoken to me once, nor looked at me. He only does this when he's trying to hide something.

"Spike?"

My childe ignores me, and I reach down and grab him by the hair pulling his gaze up to meet me. I'm even fairly gentle, I think.

Spike doesn't agree. "Ow! Bloody hell, Angel, what'd you have to do that for?"

It's my turn to ignore him, a chance I take gratefully as I down a swallow of coffee. It's the only human substance I consume. I don't know if caffeine has any effect on vampires, but if I had to guess, I'd learn towards yes, since I'm becoming addicted to a cup of coffee in the morning before I can wake up. "What are you hiding?" I ask calmly.

"Nothing!"

"Did you break anything?"

He shakes his head.

"Did you otherwise ruin anything of mine or any of my friends?"

He shakes his head again, stuffing an entire half of a donut in his mouth and reaching for another. I catch his hand before it can reach the box. "Spike..."

He swallows hurriedly, and turns to me, his face serious, and strangely enough, a little upset. "Later, okay?" The fact that he doesn't put a derogatory term in place of my name on the end of that sentence makes me even more suspicious, but I nod slowly, and respect his request. 

What the hell does he want to tell me?

Spike returns to being his usual, annoying self for the rest of the day, though. He sleeps through the afternoon, and unusually, I keep everyone hushed so that he can get some rest. Something worries me about the way he behaved in the kitchen this morning. He wasn't flip or sarcastic like usual, and that can only mean something serious is afoot. 

Cordy goes home around seven, saying she'll call if she has a vision, and to call her if we get a case. I nod absently. Spike perks up from the seat where he's been crashed since he awoke half an hour ago, leaning over Wesley's shoulder and reading some ancient text, bothering our boss to no end. "Tired, pet?" He asked solicitously.

She nods slowly, suspicious immediately. She knows Spike too well by now, to take his seemingly-considerate question at face value. "I guess."

"Gonna take a shower? Maybe a nice, hot bath?"

My Seer clams up instantly. "Spike. It's none of your business." She turns to leave.

His smile turns mischievous as quickly as her answer leaves her mouth. "Need someone to wash your back?" He leers. Then, putting a hand under his chin, he looks thoughtful. "You are going to be alone, aren't you?"

Cordy makes a face. "Ugh! No, Spike." 

He perks up faster than she can rectify her slip of the tongue. "You're not? Shame on you, pet. Who's the lucky guy?" He smirks, satisfied with his chaos-causing ability for the moment.

She looks pissed, but not rattled. "If you must know, I have a ghost."

"Ooh! The Seer's gettin' her lovin' from a ghost!"

"No! No 'lovin'! Just ordinary, platonic help! And not in the shower." She glares at him, silently challenging him to come up with something else, and my childe can never resist a challenge.

"Then you do need some help washing your back after all." He leers.

"No! And if I did, I wouldn't call you! Angel, make him shut up!" She stalks out the door.

"Shut up, Spike," I say mildly, without even looking up from my book.

"No, you'd just call Peaches!" Spike yells after her, ignoring me as usual. Then, Cordelia-baiting forgotten, he returns to hanging over Wes. A little smirk on his face is the only evidence of his childish actions that probably just pissed Cordy off enough so that I'll have to hear about it for the next three weeks.

I glare at him from across the room as this thought processes into horrific images of hearing this story, from Cordelia, every hour like she's liable to do for those next three weeks. 

True to Spike, he only smiles angelically back.

Gunn comes in from routine patrol at ten. He shelves the weapons and collects Fred. They're going somewhere, dancing I think. They asked yesterday for the night off. Wes and I said yes, of course, so long as they carried their cell phones for emergencies. They promised, and they get their date while we can get a hold of them on the spot if need be.

Finally, Wesley leaves at eleven-thirty when I 'suggest' for the third time that he get some rest. He knows as well as I do that after a quiet spell, the cases roll in three times faster than we can handle them, and then some, and I'm sincere in my desire to have him well-rested when that happens, as well as just out of the hotel right now. He packs up his books and notes in a bag, and leaves, emptying the Hyperion of humans besides my son, who's long since asleep.

Spike's watching television in his bedroom, munching on potato chips dipped first in peanut butter and then in blood, which is about as disgusting a thing as I have ever seen a being eat. I grimace, and he looks up, grinning. "Hey, Peaches."

I ignore the nickname, for now. I really want to know what's bothering Spike. I haven't seen him that serious in a while. "What's going on?" I ask without preamble, sitting down next to him.

He plays dumb. "What do you mean?"

I stare at him, catching his piercing blue eyes with my gaze. "You know what I mean. This morning, at the table, when you asked to talk about it later." He still doesn't respond, and I look at him pointedly. "It's later."

Spike looks away, something I haven't seen him do in a while. "Oh. That."

"Yes. That." I lean closer, noticing that he's really genuinely upset about something, and try to soften my tone. "What's wrong?"

He doesn't answer for long moments, then he stares at the television and responds in a totally blank tone with utterly no emotional inflection whatsoever. "I think I should leave."

Out of all the things he might say, this was one that never even made the list. I don't know why, though. It seems pretty obvious, doesn't it?

"Why?"

He stares at me, his eyes even more piercing now. "You really have to ask that, Peaches?" He looks at my blank expression and sighs, rolling his eyes. Then he points a finger at me and speaks slowly, as if I'm a child. "You. Mr. 'goody-goody, I've got a soul' vampire, gotta save all the other tortured souls, can never atone for my sins, blah blah blah blah blah."

Then he points a finger at himself. "Me. Ugly demon who remembers slaughtering people by the dozens and _doesn't_ regret it and _doesn't_ feel guilty and has no need to save the people of Los Bloody Angeles from their own selves on a nightly basis!"

He looks a little sad, even, like he's reminiscing when he asks me if I understand. "Do you get it now? That's why," He says in a soft tone that sounds incredibly out of place on him. Spike to me is all edges and hardness, he's not gentle or kind. But I'm beginning to think that William wasn't banished as thoroughly as I thought, because my childe still has a very basic, very gentle person inside of him that comes out at the strangest times.

I bet he acts like this when he's around Dawn.

I nod slowly, a little shocked. But I pull myself together and try to face him down confidently. "But you can't leave, Spike."

He doesn't even get upset at this like I'm expecting him to. "Angel. The reason you weren't gonna let me leave was 'cause you thought I'd cause more harm than was already done to myself, right?"

I nod.

"Well, I'm not going to off myself. I don't bloody well know _what_ I'm going to do, but I rather like my immortality. I jus' had to remember that. You've done your bit, it's time for me to leave." He returns to the television like the conversation is over.

A little stunned and definitely still trying to take in the fact that Spike used _reasoning_ to convince me of something, I just sit there, looking absolutely stupid, I'm sure. It's only when Spike looks over at me and sees me like this, that I move. Just my eyes, though, to meet his.

He sighs and rolls his eyes, then clicks off the television. Grabbing me by the arm, he pulls my from the couch and walks me to the door. "Look, Angelus. This would never work. I'm not gonna go out and fight the forces of darkness for you, and you're not gonna stop being all broody and tortured for me. So let's just forget it. I'll leave, you stay here, we'll both live our merry unlives free of torment." He pauses, then smirks, looking a little more like the old Spike. "Well, I'll live mine free of torment. You'll undoubtedly live yours with several thousand, so you can continue to brood all the time."

I look at him, finally getting it. Something more is going on than just the fact that Spike doesn't want to become a 'goody-goody'. Something a lot more important, and I think I know what it is.

"What would never work, Will?" I ask softly, trying to confirm my guesses. 

He looks at the ground and grinds his heel into the floor, totally interested in the tips of his Docs. "It just wouldn't, okay?"

I pull his chin gently up and force him to look me in the eye. My tone is as gentle as I can make it, trying to get him to open up to me at least a little. I need to know this, and I think he needs to tell me. "William, what won't work?"

He flicks his eyes around the lobby behind me nervously, and then seems to decide on something. A bit more confidence in his posture, he stares me in the eye. "This," He says. And he leans in and pushes himself onto his tiptoes, and kisses me.

In shock, I don't respond. He pulls away slowly, retreats into his room, and stands in the doorway for a moment, a sad expression out of place on his usually so cheerful face. "'This', Peaches. _This_ wouldn't work."

He closes the door in my face, and I hear the lock click softly in place.

* * *

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

* * *

Back to _A Little Part of the Buffiverse_

Back to _A Little Part of the Buffiverse_ Fanfic


	6. Chapter Six

* * *

****

Not Invincible

by

Princess McPhee

* * *

Disclaimer: Not mine. Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt aren't me. Not even the right gender. So, therefore, I don't own.

Author's Note: Ideas from just about every Angel or Spike fic on the planet. So, if an idea very closely resembles yours, please don't take offense.

Chapter Note: I know it's been _forever_. I've been fanning the flames of a new Smallville obsession, but here it is! Finally!

Summary: Spike goes to Angel, after Buffy beats up on him the latest time. AU from there.

Rating: R

* * *

Chapter Six

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dumbfounded, I stand before my childe's door in shock for long moments, that one short kiss going through my head over and over again, at nearly supersonic speeds. It takes nearly five minutes before I regain enough will and presence of mind to make my feet move. 

When I once again control my body, I start towards the stairs. My brain is racing, and I'm having this kind of heady, out-of-body experience. I'm thinking so hard that my physical form is on total autopilot. I totally do not notice giving it any commands of any kind, but then there I am, in my room.

Slowly, I change out of my clothes and check on Conner. Then I climb in bed, pull the covers to a respectable level, and proceed to lie there for the rest of the night.

Vampires _are_ nocturnal creatures, you know, and I've never felt it more than tonight.

I have no clue why Spike did that. Other than the obvious, of course. We feel something for each other that's more than a century old, I've always known that. We've been apart most of that century, and the first blood-bond between sire and childe in a hundred years is a powerful thing. It probably sparked old feelings like a match to dry brush.

But what am I going to do about it? The way I see it, I really only have two options. I can rebuff Spike and he'll leave, because I know he will, or I can dive headlong into something I have no clue about, and hope it all turns out for the best.

And after lying in bed thinking about these options for two hours, the second one is starting to look more and more pleasant, despite the obvious drawback: that I have no idea what I'd be getting into.

I'm not sure I'm ready to lose Spike. I was forced to kill Darla and Penn, and I've effectively exiled Dru. He's the last of my line that I'm allowed to be around, and I don't think I could lose that right now. The pull of blood is a powerful thing, and with no others left to bond with, I _need_ him. More than I'm willing to admit.

At five am, Conner wakes me from a light doze, the best I've managed all night. Yawning and stumbling, I rise, feed him his bottle, and put him back to bed, not expecting him to actually fall asleep again. But there's always hope, right?

Surprisingly enough, he conks out immediately, and I stumble back to my own bed, managing three more hours of sleep on the principal of utter exhaustion. My mind is still a whirlwind, but my body's too tired to care, so I'm asleep nearly as soon as my head hits the pillow.

At eight, Cordelia arrives and wakes me up. "Wow, you're a sleepyhead today, Angel!" She chirps cheerfully. "C'mon, get up!"

I groan and roll over. "Cordy, I have gotten less than four hours of sleep this entire night, I've been chasing my idiot childe all over LA for the past week, and there are absolutely no cases whatsoever in the 'open' file, so there's nothing I can _possibly_ need to get up for!"  
I don't open my eyes, but I can see her in my mind, standing there with her hands on her hips, glaring down at me. I'm sprawled in my bed on my stomach, my head under a pillow, the sheet twisted around my waist and my left foot hanging off the edge of the bed. I'm fairly certain I look soundly exhausted.

"Wrong-o, buster!" She says. "Vision-city in my head, first thing this morning. Why do you think I'm here this early?"

I groan again, but this time I throw the pillow off my head and heave myself into a sitting position. Rubbing my eyes, I look up at her slightly blurry image, and curse the Powers That Be. "I'm up."

Satisfied, she nods and leaves the room. Muttering to myself about the evils of god-like beings, I dress quickly, grab Conner from his crib, and head downstairs. Cordy's writing on a pad of paper, Wesley's on the phone, and Fred and Gunn look like they were woken from the same state of sleep that I was. My childe is nowhere in sight.

Plopping my son in his high-chair, which I've discovered he likes a lot more than the bassinet when we're around, I watch him out of the corner of my eye as I turn most of my attention back to Cordelia. He giggles and coos and pounds his fists on the tray, clearly happy to be in the middle of everything. I send him a quick smile before I get back to business.

"What'd you see?" I ask Cordy.

She looks up at me, the piece of paper finished. "2034 Alcott Drive. Some dead body crawling with tiny spiders. Looked like a human, female more than likely." She shudders. "Ugh."

"What kind of demon involvement?" I ask.

She shrugs. "Don't know. The spidery kind, I guess."

"I'll start getting the stuff ready."

She looks at me. "Uh, Angel?"

"Yeah?"  
"I'm afraid you're going to have to stay back on this one. It's in their backyard, 'bout noon. You know, when the sun's at it's brightest?"

"Today?"

She shrugs. "I think. That sounds about the right amount of warning to get from the Powers That Be. You know, none."  
I nod, slowly. "Okay. I'll get everything ready for you guys while you go over anything important with them." I gesture towards the sitting group of half-asleep people that are my co-workers. Cordelia follows my gaze, and cuts a clean sweep over them with her piercing eyes.

"Angel?"

"Yeah?"

"They won't hear anything I say."

I shrug. "Possibly. But you'll need their help."

"How do I wake them up?"  
I'm about to shrug again when the door to Spike's bedroom creaks open. He pokes his head out, looking exhausted, but not like he's been sleeping. So, the insomnia wasn't just my problem last night. "I'll get them some coffee and donuts. You start... filling their minds with vision-stuff." He takes off out the back entrance, his thick brown sun-blanket in hand.

I sigh, sit down, and join Wes, Gunn and Fred in getting debriefed as to the events of the vision.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cordelia's in her element, telling us what happened to the woman, where she is, all the subtle clues around her. Sometimes, I know, she worries that she isn't important to us, and as much as we tell her that she's important regardless, there's nothing like a vision that sparks the start of a new case to make her feel useful.

"So, she looks like she's only been dead a little while. Nothing's... rotting... or decomposing or anything." She wrinkles her nose. "And she's lying in her backyard, on the grass. She's on her back, and she's got spiders crawling all over her. Hundreds, maybe thousands. Like ants when there's something dead, or dog poop or something."

Wesley's taking notes, and he looks up when she pauses. "What do she look like?" He asks.

"Don't know how tall, there's nothing to measure her against. Blond hair, her eyes are closed so I can't tell. Lanky, kind of long and thin-looking. Young. Maybe in her twenties."

"Anything else?"

Cordy frowns. "There's an empty bottle next to her. It says..." She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to see the mental picture again. " 'Midtown Pharmacy'."

"A prescription bottle?"  
Cordelia nods. "But I can't see the name or the prescription." She shakes her head. "Damn."

Wesley finishes a note with a flourish, and looks up at her. "I'm sure we'll find out more when we get there," He says.

I cut in. "So, this isn't one of the ones we're supposed to save?" I ask.

Cordy shakes her head. "No. This one is most definitely dead. It's of the investigate-after-the-fact kind."

I hate these cases. Too damn many people die.

I'm mulling over my thoughts and Cordy is briefing the others on what they're going to find when they get to the house, when the back door flies open and Spike catapults himself into the room, smoking slightly and slamming the door behind him. Conner grins and claps messily, thinking it's all incredibly entertaining.

Spike throws the blanket on the floor and puts the donut box on the table. Before Cordelia can yell at the guys about sitting still and listening, they're up and out of the room, heading for the food.

The coffee my childe managed to bring back is delicious and seems to be wakening the tired and bedraggled rest of the group. How he managed to carry a box of donuts and a cardboard drink carrier with six hot coffees in it and dash home from the bakery, two blocks away, with a blanket over him is beyond me, but I've learned not to question the Feats of Spike. 

I'm spoon-feeding Conner his cereal as Wes, Cordy and Gunn go off to check out the sight of the dead woman. Fred is typing madly on the computer in the other room, checking out something Wesley remembered about demons with a larval form like a spider. There's more rice-cereal goop on me than in my son's mouth, as usual, but he's in an unusually good mood, and I'm not going to ruin it.

Spike, as per his usual manner, has retreated into his bedroom to sleep away the day. I wish I could do the same. 

Vampires need less sleep than humans, but we still do appreciate getting four or five hours of solid shut-eye a night. I dozed for maybe three hours last night, but I don't feel rested at all. It could have to do with the lack of sleep I've been accumulating during quite a significant period recently, chasing my crazy childe all over Hell.

Or rather, LA. Pretty much the same thing.

I gulp coffee and down two donuts, barely chewing them as they go past my lips. Sometimes eating human food makes me feel more human... makes my problems seem smaller and the worries in my head recede. It can make me feel closer to my son, as well. Knowing that someday he'll eat these same foods, and I can compare with him how good they are, or how terrible Cordelia's coffee is.

Not just any coffee gets Spike to go out in the daylight with only a blanket, to avoid. It took a special brand.

It's not working.

Remember when I said Spike and I never did anything about the feelings we had? Well, I guess it's not quite true. Because it's coming back to me in stark detail right now. And it feels as if it was yesterday, the gypsies cursed Angelus and brought forth me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

****

Romania, 1898

The soul rips through my body, and for long hours, all I can do is curl myself into a ball and sob, barely able to wrap my mind around the things in my head, things I did, people I killed, with my own hands. I stare at them, seeing them awash in blood, feeling the guts and brains and body fluids that have covered them so many times in the past hundred and fifty some-odd years.

My body is filthy. I feel the stain of the impurity Darla visited upon me when I so foolishly told her that I would do anything to see the world. Anything to get out of little Galway. Now, it has seen every continent, but it has also delighted in so many torturous things. So much... blood.

The shelter I've found is barely two walls, barely enough to keep me from burning into char in the rising sun. It won't be, in another hour or so. I don't care. The only thing I know is that death will deliver me from this agony, from this creeping pain within my flesh, from this anger and hate and these tears and memories...

I remember torturing Drusilla into insanity, and the tears wash down my cheeks, and suddenly I feel it crawling under my skin again, and I can't get it out _can't get it out _CAN'T GET IT OUT! I tear savagely at my own flesh, my nails long enough that, coupled with my vampiric strength, they cause half-inch deep trenches in skin and muscle. Rivers of blood flow from them, more sluggish than a human's would be, but pulsing slowly in the unnatural way of the undead. I tear at my arms, my legs, my chest, my belly, but I can't find the _thing_ that makes me so _wrong! _

The ground below me starts to soak up the blood, thick and more brownish than red, seeing as how it hasn't been in a mortal's veins for nearly a day. Yet I don't stop ripping, can't stop shredding, have to exorcise the beast. The blood flows until it only dribbles and my strength is gone, all the meals I've eaten in an eternity of Hell flushed from my veins and returned to the earth I stole it from.

A shadow in a blanket crosses my eyesight, but I'm barely strong enough to raise my head and look at him. He curses fluently, mostly in English and gestures to another figure waiting in the woods. This is Spike, and with him, Drusilla.

I want to tell them to leave me here, to let me go and wash my sins from this place, but I don't have the strength to speak. Though I'm a head taller and fifty pounds heavier, even voided of my life-fluid as now, Spike gathers me effortlessly into his arms, looking confused and a little scared. I've never been weak like this, not in front of him or Dru. Not in front of anybody.

Rushing into the woods, he finds a place where the trees are thick enough that they shade our immortal flesh from the burning of the sun. Laying me down, he looks over me, looking still like a frightened child. 

Drusilla creeps to my face and starts to cry, caressing my cheeks and singing softly through her tears. "Spike... Spike," She pleads.

"Yeah, pet?"

"He's gone, Spike, Daddy's gone..." She trails off, sobbing but still singing.

"No, he's bloody well not!" Spike curses, tearing fabric from the ruffles of his elaborate outfit. He starts to press them to my self-inflicted wounds, but I thrash about and tear myself away from him, re-opening the gashes with long strokes.

Grabbing me, Spike easily holds me down in my weak state. His expression says he's terrified; a childe is never allowed to act in this manner towards his sire. But his determination shines bright, and he ties my hands firmly together before proceeding. 

The bandaging finished, Spike looks me over, clearly not sure what to do next. I've lost so much blood... I'll die soon. I smile slightly at the thought, and my childer look more frightened, as if they know what I'm thinking.

Vamping his countenance quickly, Spike tears into his wrist. Forcing it to my lips, he pushes it down my throat, despite my resistance. With no blood in my veins, the hunger in my body is comparable to the one that seized me in its grip when Darla changed me, and I have no recourse with which to resist. I suckle heartily at my childe's wrist, hating myself every moment of it, but unable to stop.

When Spike is pale and woozy, he pulls himself away. Grabbing Dru, he tears open her wrist, and presses it to my lips. A startled cry came from her when he jumped at her, but now she sits back and closes her eyes, rocking slightly on her knees and moaning in pleasure. 

Finally, Spike pulls Dru away from me as well. She cries out in indignity, but he soothes her against his chest. Watching me, they wait all day, wondering what happened and what's going to occur next.

Around midnight, Darla arrives on horseback, leading two others. She allows Spike to untie me, then tosses the reins to him. He catches the leather strips and puts Dru on one, then swinging himself easily onto the other. My sire spares a withering glance for me, and they ride off, leaving me alone. None of them look back, though I know by Spike's fidgeting that he desperately wants to.

All through the night, I lie on the forest floor. A coyote skulks nearby in case I die, but won't come close. He knows I am dangerous, and won't risk my wrath simply for a meal.

A rabbit comes close and I snatch it, fully intending to feed upon it. But now that a little blood is in my veins and I am no longer under the influence of the Bloodlust, the thought of the red fluid of life sickens me, and I let the little creature go. I notice her swollen teats as I do so, and know that I would have killed a mother had I fed upon her. It nearly makes me vomit, but my body won't allow itself to give up the small amount of blood in my veins, that it so desperately needs.

Two nights later, Spike comes back. He's alone this time, but he brings two horses and a bag of blood. I throw it away when he offers, and now that I don't look quite so weak, he doesn't argue. Instead, he simply hands me the reins to the other horse, and I take off into the night alone.

I don't see him again until two years later, when I attempted to rejoin the pack in China.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

****

Los Angeles, 2002

Spike has always cared for me. He's an odd one, a vampire who craves violence, needs human blood to make him truly happy, but can still love. I've never met another like him.

Perhaps it was the creature he was when Dru turned him that has caused such a vampire to emerge? I don't know. All I know is that the Spike I know today is a crazy thing, with a bloodlust strong enough to drink the whole of LA dry, but at the same time, with a surprisingly shiny heart nestled under the facade he hopes to make us believe. 

And his soul... well, technically, he hasn't got one, but he's got something. Some spark of humanity left in him.

But, anyway, back to the LA crisis of the day. Wes, Gunn and Cordy will take care of this one, but with our luck, it'll be more complicated than just the body in the backyard. It will stretch on for days and days, and people will die, and Spike will leave in the middle of it all, because I won't have time to talk to him and deal with... whatever it is we're trying to deal with.

Sometimes I hate being a detective agency.

But love waits for nothing, and every minute I let Spike go on believing that I don't share his affection, is another mile that belief gets rooted into his psyche. Oh, I know he didn't say he didn't think I shared his feelings, but Spike is rather insecure when it comes to love. Or emotion of any type, actually, other than lust and anger. The gentler emotions freeze him instantly.

Of course, that was me six months ago, so I have to be careful not to let myself become to hypocritical.

Leaving Conner in his chair where I can see him, I knock softly on Spike's door. Like all vampires, he has what humans would call a 'sixth sense', a mental ability to keep track of things going on around him. Even while he sleeps, it functions. If there's nothing dangerous around, he doesn't wake. The second he feels something important, it will jerk him out of a sound sleep.

Buffy called it her 'spidey-sense'. Giles called it her 'Slayer sense'. I never pointed out the fact that it can't be either, because it is limited to neither spiders nor slayers. Most creatures possess an innate ability to sense their surroundings, but amongst some demons, vampires being one of them, it's so strong that it cannot be ignored like humans do so often. Of course, it's also much weaker in a human, and though many, with training, can effectively utilize their sixth sense, some will just never be able to.

Spike is attuned to my presence by now, and he doesn't wake, or even stir, as I slide the door open. Conner bangs a spoon on his tray and laughs, but still my childe doesn't twitch or show any signs of coming back to life.

Keeping an eye on my human son, I sit down on the edge of the blanket next to my vampire childe, and watch him. It's something that I used to crave in the past, and though I was only with Spike, Dru and Darla for a little while in China, I spent much of that time simply watching William sleep. Of course, he wanted to be called Spike back then, too, but he was still more William than the creature he would later become, so I've always thought of him like that.

My childe is in a deep sleep, I can tell because his body doesn't twitch with dream-images. Spike is a very physical dreamer, no matter what the images in his head, his body is always moving. It is only when he's beyond that place of dreaming and in where only quiet solitude keeps him company, that he is still like this.

His hair is slicked down, once again that white-blond it was when I met him in Sunnydale for the first time. William had lovely, golden-blond locks, but false blond doesn't look good on him. I'm glad that he decided, after coming here to LA, to stop keeping it that sickly yellow that is all the fad right now. And even more glad that he's started to slick it back down. I used to love the feel of William's silky tresses, but I didn't enjoy those spikes sticking up all over his head, stiff with gel.

I really wish he'd forgo dye altogether, but since that isn't going to happen, I have to try and play favorites with colors I really don't think should _exist_, never mind being in my childe's hair.

I love watching him sleep, but I came in here for a reason. Reluctantly, I reach out and run my fingers gently over his cheek, the caress barely felt on my own sensitive fingertips. "William," I whisper. "Awake."

The slight undertone of command-voice I've laid into the words brings Will slowly into the world, but he's too tired to protest me ordering him around right now, and by the time he's fully awakened, he'll have forgotten about it. "Huh?" He murmurs sleepily. "Wha'?"

I smile, and lean down to press a kiss to his forehead. "I need to talk t' ye, William." The Irish brogue isn't as thick as it used to be when I was human, but it's as strong as Spike remembers it, I'm sure.

Seemingly involuntarily, a tiny smile creeps onto his face, and he sits up. "Well?"

Without asking permission, without prefacing it, without anything, really, I lean over and kiss him. Softly, passion being tied down and kept on the back burner, but with lazy affection that is what I know he's seeking. Surprise renders him still for only a moment, before he begins to respond, stroking my lips with his own, running his tongue over mine.

A sharp point pricks my tongue, and I realize Spike has long control of the change. It's been so long since that happened... I can't remember how long ago it was. But vampires are long-lived creatures, and a pair bond is almost always formed in anything that is more than a dalliance. It's a lot different than a human bond, but in some ways, stronger. It rarely dies until one of the vampires themselves, dies. If Spike has been feeling and ignoring the bond for all these years, his body, to make no mention of his mind, is pretty stressed.

Confidently, I press my tongue against the fang, until it draws the first tiny bit of blood. Spike hisses and pulls back slightly, just enough to swallow it. It's not the blood that makes him react this way- he had my blood last night. It's the raw emotion of this kiss, the feelings that we both know are nearly tangible around us.

Slowly, he pulls away, after what seems like forever. Dazed, his eyelids droop, covering most of the sleepy, yet passion-drenched blue eyes. "Angel?" He murmurs, and I smile.

"William."

He doesn't protest the name, only pulls me close to him, and I give in without a fight. Conner is still in my line of sight, but he seems happy playing with his utensils, and I don't think twice about laying back against my other childe. He curls himself around me so that I can see his face out of the corner of my eye, and we simply sit there for long moments.

Eventually, he speaks again. "Thank you."

"For what?" My voice is soft.

"Showing me you feel the same way."

I smile gently. "William, I have always loved you. I will always love you."

"But not like this." It isn't a question, it's a statement.

I shrug, not willing to lie to him. "You were too young for a long time. I didn't see you for an even longer time, and when I did, you were too disappointed in me to be interested in me. But now is now, and who knows what the future will bring?"

He seems content with the answer, and we let it rest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fred comes to get Conner when he starts crying and I don't immediately respond. I feel a little guilty, but I was going. It was just, untangling myself from Spike was proving harder than expected. He may be small, but he has a death-grip, especially when he's asleep, which was how he was when Conner started to yell.

A little concerned herself, knowing how quickly I usually respond to my child's cries of distress, Fred comes to check on us. Her eyes widen a little, but she doesn't comment on how she finds me, just tells me, her voice calm enough, that she's taking Conner with her to join her in the office. I nod my ascent, not really having wanted to get up anyway, and lay back down.

Somehow, before we lay down on the couch, we managed to get ourselves face to face, and Spike's head is curled into my shoulder, his arms around my chest and his body pressed length-wise against mine. Which, while an extremely comfortable position for the moment, is rapidly becoming uncomfortable. I've had sex twice in the past hundred years, not counting my brief reign as Angelus in Sunnydale, and I think I'm allowed to become rather... rapidly aroused.

Extricating myself from my sleeping brethren is not an easy task. However, I manage, and Spike stays miraculously asleep through all of it. I don't think he actually would have minded to find me... shall we say, up and ready? but _I'm_ not really ready to find out. 

And even if he hadn't minded, I don't think I'm ready for that. Plus, there's always the issue of my soul, though I'm fairly sure it's staying right where those gypsies put it. But that doesn't amount to being willing to risk anyone's life on that bet, and that's something I would be doing if I risked it.

Sigh. Me and my right hand are going to be friends forever, I think. And not out of mutual desire.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike doesn't awaken until much later. The sun is already set, dinner is on the table and Conner is whining about not being fed when he finally stumbles out of his room. 

Wes and Fred are in up to their elbows with the research in the living room. Wesley has surrounded himself with many huge, expensive tomes, and Fred is still clacking away at the keyboard. Gunn is off with his crowd, spending the small amount of time that he still does with them, and Cordelia is taking yet _another_ shower, claiming that the smell of demon may _never_ come out of her hair. Since I was fixing dinner, there wasn't anyone to feed Conner, and he got a little loud.

As soon as he gets his bearings, Spike heads for the noise-maker himself. Pulling him out of his high-chair settles him down for a minute, but then he starts to protest again. Spike enters the kitchen, grabs a jar of baby food and a tiny spoon, goes to the table and starts to feed it to Conner. 

"Spike!"

He looks up, his eyes oddly dull. "What, Peaches?"

I was going to tell him not to feed Conner before dinner, but I forgo it for a concerned "What's wrong?" He looks sick. But vampires don't get sick, at least not unless they're poisoned, or stupid enough to drug themselves with cocaine.

He shrugs. "Just thinking."

I'm not about to believe that, but I think I have to, for now. I can't pry too deeply, or he'll run again, and that's the last thing I want. "Okay," I tell him, making sure plenty of doubt suffuses my voice.

He gives me a look, and for a moment seems a little more like the Spike I know. "I'm _fine_."

I nod, my face carefully neutral. "Okay. Don't feed Conner too much of that before dinner, okay? I don't want him needing a diaper change while we're all trying to eat."

Spike nods. "Sure, Peaches."

Something is definitely wrong. Spike never agrees with me like that, not on the first try.

Dinner is uneventful. The humans eat heartily and Spike digs into his plate, piling it high with everything I made. I chew on a bread-stick, not really interested in eating, but having learned that your mouth being full is the best excuse not to talk at the dinner table. And right now, I really need to think.

The bonds that connect sire and childe are strong, but there are never two alike. Darla changed me to gain a companion, and treated me as a fledgling for two years, maybe three at most. By the time I had twenty years under my immortal belt, I was almost her equal, provided I did nothing to piss her off. And weren't visiting the Master. But that's a different story.

Drusilla was a different kind of childe. She was actually just meant to be an amusement, but her insanity, though annoying at times, made her who she was, and she grew on me. It took longer for Darla, but by the time she turned Spike, even my sire had developed a rather soft spot for Dru. Our bond however, was totally forged on being sire and childe. 

When Spike came along... everything was different. He was one of the most rebellious fledges I'd ever met, and for every way I could think of to tame him, he'd think of another to drive me crazy. Drusilla, he had a soft spot for, and Darla, he didn't dare annoy, because she would just as soon stake him as have him around, but as soon as he was sure I wasn't going to turn him into a pile of dust, I became fair game.

So, for a long while, Spike and I had what I would have termed a love-hate relationship. He drove me crazy, the rules I constantly enforced drove him crazy, but whenever he was vulnerable, I'd look out for him, and if he felt like it, he could be sweet. Plus, he was only looking for attention. I had an insane vampiress and a rather demanding sire taking my time away from him, he had to resort to obscene behavior to make me even take notice of him sometimes.

Because Spike and I are not immediate blood, the bond within our veins is different than if we were. It's stronger, and yet, not. The blood in my veins doesn't flow with attachment, like that of a sire's, and the blood of Spike's veins doesn't have the compelling need to obey me that accompanies the change. That is reserved only for the immediate sire.

Therefore, the bond that William and I made was one of work. Of sweat, and affection and comfort. It wasn't a bond of blood-family- though we were- it was a bond of love-family. Though vampires don't feel love like humans do, as a species, they are most certainly capable of it. However, like humans, there are individuals who don't love, who can't. Because the hunter's blood is stronger in our veins, there are more of us who are incapable of love than there are humans. Spike has never been one, though, nor Dru, and in my own twisted way, I loved both of them even before I got my soul.

Cordelia clears her throat, abruptly pulling me from my reverie, some of my more pleasant memories still flitting through my mind. "Angel?"

I turn my head sharply to look at her. "Huh? Oh. Yes?"

"Everyone's done eating."

I look around the table, and notice it's true. Cordy is cleaning up Conner, Fred and Wesley are clearing the table and doing the dishes, and Spike is nowhere to be seen. "Oh. Sorry."

Cordy just shrugs. "S'okay. You looked like you were off somewhere pretty far away."

I nod. "Yeah. It was... a long time ago."

She looks concerned. "Are you okay?"

I smile gently. "Actually, yes. Though most of the things I did as Angelus were horrific... I do have a few fond memories."

My Seer smiles knowingly. "Spike?"

"William, back then. But, yes." I move to take Conner, but she waves me away.

"I haven't seen him all day. Go find something to do, and let me and little Conner bond." Her voice is firm, and I smile, knowing what she's doing.

"Thanks, Cordy."

She just raises her eyebrows from where she's blurbling Conner's belly button. Laughing slightly, I walk out of the dining room, making a mental note to thank everyone for the help after dinner, and get the update on the demon they were chasing after. But right now, I need to corral my childe, and find out what's bothering him.

The door to his room is open, so I knock softly on the frame before peering in. "Spike..."

My voice dies off as I see what he's doing. Shoving everything he owns into the pockets of his duster, which he's wearing, and cleaning the couch of the things he's dropped on it in the past few days, he turns to face me. "Hey." He's trying for casual, but there's a hint of tension in his voice.

"What are you doing?"

"Packin'."

"You're leaving?"

He looks at me like I'm a small child. "Yeah. We talked 'bout it, remember, Peaches? Or are you just gettin' senile in your old age?"

My brain is struggling to keep up. "We... we talked about it... but then you kissed me..."

The hurt shines harder in Spike's eyes, but the determination matches it. "And you told me you felt the same way. But it still doesn't change anything."

"Why not?"

He sighs. "Because you're still goody-two-shoes vampire-with-a-soul, and I'm Spike. William the Bloody, slayer of Slayers, and blood-thirsty beast, remember?" He stalks past me towards the front door, and I follow him at a quick clip.

"Spike!"

He doesn't turn, but he stops, and his voice falls to something that could almost be angst-y. "Please, don't make this harder than it is."

"William, don't go."

He does turn to face me then. "I can't stay."

"Why not?"

"You know why not."

I raise my shoulders and my eyebrows. "No. I don't. So tell me, Will. Why can't you stay? Is it my friends? The fact that we share a common and equally doomed love for a Slayer? That I'm a savior of people, and you're... only a savior of the ones you like? Tell me, William." I know I'm pleading.

He sighs, hard. "It's all of that. And more. Now, can you please let me go?"

I step in-between him and the door. "No."

"Angel..."

"Look me in the eye and tell me you _want_ to go."

He stares at me, piercing blue eyes shut off from his emotions. "I want to go. Now get out of the way."

"Liar." My voice is soft.

He's getting angry. "I did what you wanted! What more do you need?"  
I ignore his little outburst. "If you wanted to leave, I wouldn't still be standing here, would I, Will?"

He reaches out to shove me out of the way, then, but I'm ready, and stand my ground. "Goddamnit, Angel, this will backfire on everybody if I stay!"  
I shrug. "Maybe. But it's no more likely than if it were someone else. Now, do you want to tell me the real reason you're leaving?"  
His body slumps a little, but he raises his eyes to mine, still full of pride. "I don't think... I don't think I can resist if I stay here," he says. "And I _don't_ want to see Angelus again." He laughs bitterly. "You may be one messed-up vampire, but that fucker wants me dead."

"Believe me, I want nothing more than to never see Angelus again," I tell him. "But anything good is worth fighting for, right? You always employed that principle, Will. And... we're getting a second chance. Not many do."

I put a hand on his shoulder, and he meets my eyes, starting to waver. "Angel..."

I shush him with a finger to his lips. "Don't. You can always leave later. But don't leave now... please?"

There's a long moment of silence before he nods his ascent, quickly and without emotion. "Okay."

* * *

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

* * *

Back to _A Little Part of the Buffiverse_

Back to _A Little Part of the Buffiverse_ Fanfic


	7. Chapter Seven

* * *

****

Not Invincible

by

Princess McPhee

* * *

Disclaimer: Not mine. Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt aren't me. Not even the right gender. So, therefore, I don't own.

Author's Note: Ideas from just about every Angel or Spike fic on the planet. So, if an idea very closely resembles yours, please don't take offense.

Chapter Note: Sorry again, about how long it's been. I had the chapter almost finished, but I needed an end for the longest time! Also, I think this still falls under the category of 'R', but let me know if you think I'm wrong.

Summary: Spike goes to Angel, after Buffy beats up on him the latest time. ('Dead Things') AU from there.

Rating: R

* * *

Chapter Seven

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Relieved, a little bit surprised, I nod softly. "Thank you."

He dips his head a little. "It's still not a good idea."

"I know. But I couldn't bear for you to leave yet, Will. Could you have?"

He shakes his head reluctantly. "You know I couldn't've."

"Then we'll just settle for the fact that we're both a little too co-dependant at the moment, and move on, huh?"

He cracks a bit of a smile. "Sure."

I pull his head up until his eyes meet mine. "Want to go watch TV?" I ask. He nods.

"Sure. What about the bitty one, though?"

"Connor? Cordy's insisted she and he have to 'bond'. We've got time."

He smiles at me, and takes my hand. Leading me to the couch, we settle down next to each other, and Spike grabs the remote to click the television on. "Any preferences?" He asks.

I shake my head. "I don't watch TV. I don't know what kind of things it shows, these days."

Spike looks at me incredulously, looking a bit more like himself. "You don't watch television?"  
I shake my head again. "I've got an infant son, and a business to run. I don't have time."

"Not even the news?"

"What for? We get three different newspapers, thanks to Cordelia's insistence that we at least 'attempt to keep up with the modern world', I think she said."

Spike laughs. "Sounds like the bint."

I fix him with a glare, though I don't put any real anger or effort into it. "Spike. Please refrain from calling any of my friends a 'bint'."

"Why?"

I growl a little, the sound exasperated rather than threatening. "Because it's rude!"

He pouts out his lower lip and looks for all the world like the teenager he is at heart. "But she's rude to me..." He whines comically.

I can't help but crack a bit of a smile, but I quickly school my face back into 'adult Angel'-phase. "There will be no referring to any of the women in this business as a 'bint', William."

He looks like he's about to protest, but then a contemplative expression crosses his face, and he forgets to argue. "Why do you do that?" He asks, actually sincere in wanting the answer.

"Do what?"

"Call me Will sometimes, and Spike others."

I shrug. "There are aspects of your personality that are utterly William, things that I remember from running together. Then there are things about you that are foreign to me, things you learned when I was gone. That's Spike. It just depends on who you're reminding me of at the moment."

"I should tell you that my name is Spike, and I haven't been William for a hundred years, you realize."

Surprised, I raise an eyebrow. "That's what I was expecting," I admit. "But feel free to surprise me."

He pretends to think about it for a second, chewing dramatically on his bottom lip, and I smile slightly. "Nope. I think I should tell you my name is Spike, and I haven't been William for a century."

I notice that he doesn't actually say that. He just says he _should_ say that. I know Spike well enough to realize that he's too proud to give in and say it's alright with him, so instead he's giving me tacit permission while pretending to deny ever having given it. I didn't realize that he liked being called William, but I guess since it reminds me of the old days, it probably has the same effect of him. It wasn't all terrible, you know.

I smile again. "Okay, _Spike_."

He grins at me, that cheeky grin that sometimes makes you love him insanely, and sometimes makes you want to scrub it off his face with soap and steel wool. "Glad we got that sorted out."

I nod sagely.

Still grinning, he starts to spread out. Spike is really a little person, but he has this way of taking up entire pieces of furniture that supposedly able to hold four or five people. He sort of throws his arms out to the sides, kicks his legs out to his side, and slouches. He's doing it now.

A side effect of this posture he's taken on, though, is that it brings him significantly closer to me, and I'm not protesting. He throws an arm around the couch behind me, and I lean back into it a little. 

It's a quiet evening. Cordy comes in around nine to tell me she's putting Connor to bed, and I nod and go back to watching whatever it is on the television. I think it's monster truck racing. Before, we were watching some inane teen drama on the WB, though, and it was amusing how utterly absorbed Spike was. Now, he's a tense little bundle of nerves, yelling at the TV every time one of the trucks he was rooting for crashes into something and loses.

Thankfully, it ends just after Cordy comes to talk to me, and Spike's resulting channel surfing comes up with nothing he wants to watch, apparently. "You got any vids, Peaches?" He asks.

I shrug, ignoring the 'Peaches' nickname for now. "I think Wesley has some, and I know Cordy does."

Spike screws up his face in disgust. "English's collection of British classics, or the secretary's collection of modern romantic comedies. Sure you don't have anything worth watching around here?"

"Gunn has some martial-arts movies in the basement, I think."

Spike perks up a little more. "That's more like it! You up for it?"

I nod. "Sure." I know Spike and I will do little more than critique the actors' skills throughout the entire movie, but it doesn't sound like a horrible way to spend an evening. And most of the actors in these movies really have no clue what it is they're supposed to be doing, much less how to do it. It's not my fault if between us, Spike and I have several centuries of experience.

And, as I knew things would end up, Spike and I blast the actors to shreds with our words, Spike curses incessantly, and we end up cheering on the bad guys, though they can't act out the incredible stunts any better than the white hats. 

Somewhere around the third movie, Spike starts to settle. He no longer bounces in his seat when he yells at the television, and he doesn't point emphatically at every poor side-kick that's performed. His mouth, however, doesn't get the memo and keeps going a mile a minute until well after the end of the credits, which I let run just to give some kind of background noise other than Spike's caustic narrative.

"Time to go to bed?" I ask, knowing what his answer will be.

"Are you kidding? Angel, we're _vampires_. You know, the scary things that go bump in the night, and given the chance, like to chomp on sweet young things after we scare them half to death? Remember?"

I just nod, a little smirk on my face.

"Take note of the 'in the night', you poofter."

This time, I school my face into a solemn expression and nod sagely. "Okay."

Exasperated, he throws up his hands. "God, you are just an impossible creature!"

"Yeah. And you're such a gem." I don't try my hand at sarcasm very often, but apparently I pull it off, at least occasionally, because Spike cracks up.

"Fair enough," he allows. "But I'm a bad, mean monster. I'm allowed to be a pain in the ass."

My tone takes on a little bit of a reminiscent tone. "You wouldn't be you if you weren't just a royal pain in just about every part of the body, Will."

Spike ignores his name, and leers at me. "Just about? And which parts would it be that enjoy me?"

I grin and point. He raises his eyebrows, clearly not having expected a response quite so graphic, but certainly willing to play along.

"You look... ready to enjoy me." He puts a little emphasis on the word 'enjoy', well aware of the way his voice and verbal teasing makes my libido flare.

"I do, huh?"

"Yep. Want me to do something about it?"

I groan. "God, Spike, do I ever."

He stands and walks over to me, sitting down on my knees and pressing his forehead to mine for a second before diving into a warm, wet, and thoroughly arousing kiss. I'm entirely pissed that this can't go any further.

Our bodies are technically cold, but in reality, no more than room temperature. Add a little friction, and while it doesn't feel like a cave of fire, which is what kissing a human feels like, there's definitely warmth involved to enjoy.

Spike presses as close to me as he can and still kiss me. One of the major benefits of not having to breath, is the not having to come up for breath while enjoying making out. 

'Making out'? God, I sound like a teenager.

Our tongues twice together, quickly making me forget I'm even capable of speech. Connor's blissfully asleep and everyone else is gone- Fred's in her room upstairs, but she won't come out until morning, if then. It's quiet in the house, and despite my vampiric senses, there's little to be distracted by.

Will puts his entire being into this kiss, I can tell. I feel the affection and love radiating off of him, and the desire that shoots through his veins. I want to taste it _so_ badly, I can almost imagine his blood in my mouth, thick viscous fluid, slightly coagulated, and so full of hormones it could drive me crazy with lust...

I pull one of my hands from his back and start to run it down the front of his chest. I reach his waist and tug a little on his shirt to make it give up the last semblance of being tucked in, careful not to rip it with vampire strength, in my haste. Pushing the same hand underneath the fabric, I trace the muscle lines of my childe's stomach as I move slowly up the hard flesh of his torso.

When I reach mid-chest or so, I pull my other hand from his back and let it join in, tracing little patterns on Spike's skin, making the hair on his arms stand up and his shoulders goose-bump. As I run circles just around the outside of his nipples with my fingertips, he moans into my mouth and attacks with more fervor. I meet him, pressing harder against his mouth, running my tongue more roughly through his mouth.

He moves his hands, which are resting on my shoulders, now. Starts to rub the back of my neck, getting progressively softer in his touches as he travels down my back. Rubbing and kneading with feather-light touches, and every one sends a minute shiver through my body. Wanting to make him feel like I do, I brush my thumbs softly across his nipples, and he jumps, startled. When he settles back down, I do it again, and he breaks the kiss enough to get air to groan, low and throaty, before I take his lips back.

Rocking his hips gently, he presses some more... sensitive parts together. I control my initial reaction, which is to buck hard, and respond instead with the same soft motion he makes. It's delicious... but it's not enough.

Yanking himself away from me with a quick wrench, Spike's face agrees. "More," he growls, his eyes growing yellow and his hands wandering quickly over my entire torso. 

I shake my head. "No."

Spike's face is frustration personified. "I need it!"

My smile is wry, and equally annoyed with my curse. "I know. I do too. But it's too dangerous."

Spike rolls his eyes. "See? This is proof that this isn't enough. You're speaking in full sentences."

"I _have_ been at this a while." As soon as that leaves my mouth, I regret it, not wanting to make Spike self-conscious.

Spike is anything but self-conscious. He rolls his eyes again, and looks down at my with an expression that says he can't believe I actually said that, much less believe it. "Angelus, you've been shagged twice in the past hundred years, and I've been at this more than a century. Between the combination of both those things, there is no way you should be speaking in full sentences."

I shrug, no real answer for him this time. Spike takes it for permission, and captures my mouth again.

I don't protest, knowing that when we reach the wire, Spike will stop. But it feels so good... and if it's only going to be me and my right hand later, I want some good fantasies.

Will starts to rock his hips again, grinding down into me at the same time as he twists one nipple. I buck hard against his body, and he breaks the kiss and grins, reaching behind me to lift my shirt over my shoulders. I let him, and bestow the same attention on his shirt. It can't really hurt to be naked from the waist up, can it?

I know, I'm a very delusioned man.

Pushing on my side and chest, Spike manages to maneuver us so that I'm leaning against the pillows at one end of the couch, half-reclining, and he's on top of me. My legs are splayed out on the couch, and he's half-kneeling over me. A fiery grin in his eyes, he slides down my body a few inches, and starts to paint my chest with his tongue, avoiding my nipples. I growl at him in frustration.

He raises his head again and just continues to give me that spine-melting grin. Spike has never been shy about sex. He's an extremely sexual creature, and he's instinctually good at it. After William realized that the rules regarding vampiric sex were few and far between, he delved into it with beautiful enthusiasm and unerring accuracy when faced with giving someone else pleasure.

Now, his tongue returns to its task for a few moments longer, until I grab him by the shoulders and drag him up to meet my mouth. He's set a faster pace with our hips now, and has to pull away from my mouth to gasp a breath. Well, maybe not has to, but he does, and when he does, he rests his head in the crook of his neck, his breath blowing softly on my sensitive skin. I shiver, and he notices.

Laving his gentle, warm tongue over my skin, he finds the most sensitive places, and proceeds to first lick them, and then softly bite with his human teeth, noting what makes me buck the hardest into his body, and then repeating it. 

It's a little tougher for me to reach, being taller than Spike by quite a bit, but I duck my head to his neck, and copy his motions, grinning when he responds just the way I did. I don't think anyone would say it's unnatural that vampires have a thing for necks. It just comes with the territory.

We've been pretty inarticulate so far. The noises we've made have consisted of mostly grunts and moans, and the occasional whine, which we will both deny ever having done in the morning. Now I speak for the first time since Spike insisted he needed more.

"Bite me, William."

Spike freezes, then bites down hard on my jugular with his blunt teeth, clearly not about to not take advantage of this opportunity. Though it sends a familiar shiver through my already over-aroused body, it wasn't what I meant, and I tell him so.

"With your fangs."

He hesitates, then I feel his face change. The steady rocking of his hips against mine quickens, both of us full of anticipation for the bite. And this is Spike. It will be a spectacular bite.

He lines his fangs up on the vein, and presses slightly. As he gets the first hint of blood, his body tenses and he moves faster against me again. I throw my head back and he moans, then presses his vampire teeth into my neck, so slowly that I know it must be killing him, prolonging the erotic feeling for me. 

When he finally punctures two perfect holes in my jugular, he pulls back just enough for his teeth to leave the holes. It feels empty for a long moment, and then Spike's strong throat muscles work and he sucks at the punctures, and the thick, dark red fluid begins to flow from my body.

With the first full mouthful, he comes.

Desperate to feel what he does, and since it's been a very long time since I've taken vampire blood, I unsheath my teeth and bite quickly into his neck. It isn't a drawn-out process like Spike's bite, but with a quick retraction and a strong sucking motion, his blood fills my mouth, and it doesn't matter. I arch up at him once more, quickly, and then collapse on the couch, a boneless heap of souled vampire under the equally boneless heap of Spike. 

A few minutes later, the remaining clothing becomes uncomfortable, and I lift Spike off me, then head to my room. I motion to him when he looks uncertain, and a smirk breaks out over his face as he follows.

When I reach my bedroom, all I do is strip and fall into bed. Spike falls in beside me, equally naked, and I pray that we both have a lot of self-control in the morning. Luckily, all either of us wants to do right now is sleep. Vampire stamina? Not so much a myth as... an exaggeration. Spike's still young, for the fanged sort of folks, and I've been on a no-sex diet for the last century. Can you really blame us for being overwhelmed?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Connor awakes at around six-thirty, late for him, and takes his bottle. I consider staying up, since it's almost always futile to try and get him back to sleep, but then I decide that it can't hurt to try. So I sing to him softly, rock him, and for the second time this month, he goes back to sleep. Maybe he's finally growing out of his early-morning wake up time. God, I hope so.

After I put my son back to bed, I crawl into bed with Spike once more. I put on a robe to go tend to Connor, but I shed it now, and crawl back under the covers. I'm careful not to touch him too much, not wanting to wake him up, but as it turns out, he seeks out my body on his own, without ever opening his eyes.

When he curls himself around my body, I sigh, smile, and close my eyes to go back to sleep.

It's nine when the door slams open, someone gasps and disappears, someone else sticks their head in the door, and then the said someone else, who turns out to be Cordelia, shrieks and goes "ANGEL! What are you doing!"

Since I'm thoroughly awake by then and not at all startled by her screaming, I roll onto my back and face her, but I move slowly, and don't bother to open my eyes. "I was sleeping, until you barged in here."

Spike's voice joins mine, and I crack my eyes open to look at him. He's entirely naked and also entirely bare, since I somehow got wrapped up in all of the sheets and blankets. He's lying on his stomach, his head turned towards me, but his eyes are closed and he doesn't move to face Cordy as he speaks. "Yeah, what are you bloody up to, with the not-knocking and the barging in?" He asks.

I fight the smile that comes to my face with the California-talk he's obviously picked up.

Cordy sounds exasperated, a little worried, and more than a bit annoyed. "Well, we figured out what the spider-demons are, and we thought you'd want to know."

Spike flings himself over, sits up and stares Cordy down with piercing blue eyes, all in the space of a second. "Learn. To. Knock." He spits out, and then flops back onto the bed.

Cordelia bristles. "Listen, you bleach-headed bloodsucker, I wasn't looking for you. And I wasn't talking to you, either."

Spike snorts. "You are now," He points out.

Cordy throws her arms up in the air and leaves the room, slamming the door behind her. As she walks down the hall, she calls to me, knowing I can hear her. "Angel! Get your butt out here, preferably with some clothes on it, cause we need to talk!"

I grin at the antics of both Cordy and Spike, and put the recommended clothes on before dragging my childe out of bed and into his tattered apparel. "You need some new clothes," I remark idly.

"Yeah? And just how am I going to afford them, pet? The bloody Scoobies weren't payin' me, and you sure as hell ain't."

I wince, realizing I've hit a nerve. "You're right." I think about offering money, but something tells me this isn't the right time. "I can help you find a job, if you want." Later, I'll offer him one with AI.

He snorts. "Doing what? I'm a chipped, bleach-headed, hundred and twenty year-old vampire. Not that, mind you, there's anything bad about that, but it's not exactly conducive to job-getting."

Then he seems to remember what he's trying to be, and meets my eyes with fire in his. "And what makes you think I want a job, anyway? I like living on the run, taking what I need and not doing anything I don't want to."

I shrug, not responding to his accusatory tone. "It just won't work so well anymore."

He doesn't respond, just walks out the door, but I know he's not really upset, because he didn't slam it in my face.

He's just thinking. Thinking about what he can do with his life, or in this case, unlife, now that he's been forced to realize all that he _can't_ do.

"Angel! Get your butt down here!"

God, why do I employ this woman? Would somebody please remind me, because I can't think of a single good reason.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cordelia is, thankfully, alone in the lobby when I enter. Not so wonderfully, she's pacing at a rather frantic speed, her hands playing in her hair, and her entire body is tense beyond belief. God, you'd think this was a church in the deep south or something, not Los Angeles, California. It's not like she can _possibly_ be that intolerant of gay people while living and working in this city.

I know I'm distracting myself.

Cordy has no homophobia problems whatsoever. She just doesn't like Spike.

Correction, she _really_ doesn't like Spike. She hates him with a vengeance unmatched in this dimension. She would have been beyond thrilled if he had never been born. Any or all of those work as descriptions of Cordy's problem with me right now.

God, am I in for it.

I walk slowly out of the shadows, moving silently like only a vampire can, entirely reluctant to enter this battle. A flash of dark hair catches my eye and I turn my head swiftly, hoping that it's something that needs killing immediately, _before_ I have a 'talk' with my extremely irate secretary-slash-assistant-slash-who-knows-what-the-hell-Cordy-is.

It's only Fred, though.

Sticking her head out of the office, she gives me an uncertain smile, knowing that she's caught, and waves a little. She doesn't speak, though, and her head disappears back around the corner, after which the office door is quickly closed, and I'm forced to return my attention to the mission at hand.

"Cordy?" I ask hesitantly.

She whirls to face me at a superhuman speed. "What the hell are you thinking?!"

"Do we have to start right off with that?" I ask.

She glares at me. "What did you want?" I could swear she's growling.

"Just, maybe, the usual pleasantries?" I try not to sound too meek, but Cordelia's enough to cow anybody, even when she's not angry enough to rival a Fyorl demon.

She glares, harder. "Hello. Good morning. How are you? Oh, that's right, you're probably ABOUT TO LOSE YOUR SOUL since you SPENT THE NIGHT fucking chip-boy!" She holds up a wooden stake to show her preparedness for my expected change.

I hold up my hands in a show of peace. "Whoa, Cordy! My soul is fine, it's not going anywhere."

"Yeah? How do you know that?" The hand not holding the stake is on her hip.

"I could feel it, when it happened. Before. It's not going anywhere, I promise."

She looks at me piercingly, and seems to consider this. "Really?"

"Really."

Heaving a sigh of relief, she throws her stake on the ground and collapses onto the couch. Then, abruptly, she launches herself off the couch and into my arms, grabbing me in a hug that further convinces me she's been getting superhuman powers. "Don't you dare do that to me again!" She says, and I pat her back.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you..."

She draws away, takes a second to compose herself and then has her hands on her hips again before I can even really start to think. It would make me laugh if we weren't in the current situation. "How could you take that risk, Angel?!"

I shake my head, and open my mouth to speak, but she continues without waiting for what I have to say.

"You have a son! A business, and employees, and a ton of other people who know you and really, _really_ don't want to meet your soulless alter-ego! Mostly because they don't really want to die right this minute! And then lets talk about all the people you don't know! I think they like the world, _this_ one, I mean, not whatever one it is that Angelus wants to bring into being!" She stares at me, and defies me to answer.

"I didn't risk it, Cordy. I promise, I wouldn't do that."

"Then how do you explain the whole scene this morning? I suppose you and Spike just needed to 'feel each others' skin' or something? And which brings to mind, _Spike? _Of all the people that I could find you with, it had to be _him?_"

"Okay, one question at a time. A: there was some... touching going on last night, but that's none of your business, and I wouldn't risk this business, my son, or my friends. And B: Who I choose to have a relationship with is, similarly, none of your business."

Cordy cocks her head and takes this as a challenge. "Okay, Mr. A, B. I'll just WAIT here for Angelus to take over again after you and chip-boy give in to your more base desires. Because I know you're sex-starved like a ninety-year-old monk, and don't even bother trying to deny it, and it _is_ gonna happen, sooner or later, and don't even bother trying to deny that, either."

I sigh. "Cordy, I realize my control may look weak-" She raises an eyebrow and snorts in derision.

"Is the name 'Darla' ringing any bells?" She asks snootily.

I ignore her and continue. "but I won't let anything happen to the people I love, and if that means keeping my 'base desires' in check, that's what I'll do."

She snorts. "Yeah, right."

I'm getting angry at this point. "Do you think I would put you, and Conner, and Gunn and Wes and Fred and Lorne and Spike and everybody in Sunnydale in danger over _a fuck?!_ Do you?!"

She pauses for a long moment and looks at me, standing here steaming, then shakes her head very slowly. "No. No, I don't, Angel."

I know she's waiting for me to forgive her, but I can't. Not right now. So I just settle for reining in my temper, nodding slowly in return, and turning away.

The stairs seem to take forever to climb, and when I return to my bedroom, all I want to do is sleep, but Conner has other ideas.

Surprisingly, when I roll over, utter a four-letter word and start to rise from the bed, a hand stops me gently. "I got it, Peaches," He says equally softly.

"Really?"

He smiles tenderly. "Yeah. Go back to bed, I'll join you if I can get physics-girl to provide some day-care."

I nod. "Thank you."

He smiles. "Sure."

I knew I created childer for a reason. Beyond just because I was insane.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Will is once again by my side when I wake up, asleep, and he looks so calm and peaceful lying there, ephemeral beauty pouring from every facet of his being. His skin almost glows, and he looks like an angel.

I know, I know, I'm being insanely cheesy. And if my childe were awake, he'd accuse me of being a 'poofter.' If he could read minds that is, which, strangely enough, I wouldn't put past him some days.

A twitch of one insignificant facial muscle catches my eye, I'm paying such close attention to him, and I peer closer at his sleeping face. Then, all of a sudden, his chest heaves and he takes a breath, then starts panting and gasping for air as though he is still human and running from something monstrously horrible. 

One touch on his shaking shoulder is all that it takes to rouse him, and his piercing blue eyes snap open so quickly it almost startles me. His body lies still as stone, knowing both instinctively and from many years as a vampire, that sometimes a disguise works better than violence, but his eyes roam over every corner of the room as quickly as possible, finally landing on me.

He takes another breath, but this one he lets out in a sigh, and I see his body relax minutely. He fakes a smile and tries to pretend everything is fine. "'Morning, Peaches!" The false cheer in his voice is obvious.

I nod slightly. "'Morning i'tis, William." Sometimes the accent relaxes him.

He knows he isn't going to get away with telling me nothing. "Aw, it was just a dream," he says. Then, when the skepticism of my look takes hold, "I'm fine!"

We both arise, though we don't say much, and I look over at the clock. "It's 2 already," I say. "I guess it's not actually morning. Do I need to go and get Connor right away?"

He shakes his head. "Naw. Physics-girl said we could leave him with her as long as we like."

I stretch my arms lazily over my head, pulling the strain from strong muscles unaccustomed to so much sedentary time, and smile a little. "Good. I'm sure we could both use a shower."

Spike's good humor seems to be returning. "Don't you know it, mate!" He grins.

I gather some clothing from my closet, and throw them at Spike. "We really need to get you some clothes," I comment, and he stiffens a little.

"Yeah, I guess." He's uncomfortable. I think that the idea of buying him clothes makes it feel a little more permanent, staying with me, and after all the convincing I've had to do to _get_ him to stay, I _know_ he's not too sure about it.

He's in the bathroom now, and I hear the water start to run as I pick my own shirt, pants and boxers. Reluctantly, I find my boots and put them next to the outside of the bathroom doorframe. I would love to pad around the hotel in my bare feet sometimes, but trouble has a way of showing up when you're unprepared, and not wearing shoes would be pretty unprepared in my line of business.

The door Spike closed to keep in the steam is opened when he hears me outside, and I duck in, stowing my clothes on the counter next to the pile of his. "Sorry that my clothes don't really fit you," I say.

He grins, stepping into the shower. "I don't mind that, pet. But I do wish you had something in your bloody wardrobe that wasn't black!"

"Black is a good color," I tell him mock-indignantly as I step inside the stall next to him.

"Sure. But there's such a thing as too much of a good thing, love."

A flutter goes through me at the random endearment, but I do my best to ignore it. Spike calls everybody 'pet' and 'love.' They're just generalized nicknames. "It's utilitarian," I defend.

"It makes you look like the bleedin' dark avenger!"

"I am a dark avenger, Spike," I tell him with a grin, and then shift the showerhead swiftly so that he gets a faceful of spray.

"Hey!" He sputters a little.

I laugh. It's good to feel so free, and despite all the personal problems that Spike and I and the rest of the gang are going to have to deal with in the coming days, demon activity is low, and my favorite childe is at my side. My human son and friends are safe, and the only case we're on involves spiders. Unlife is being good to me, and I know it.

All of a sudden, there's shaving cream in my mouth, and a smirking Spike standing over me, holding the can up. He shrugs when I glare at him, still smirking. "Sorry, mate. It was too good an opportunity to pass up."

I spit the bitter-tasting foam on the shower floor, making sure a good portion of it lands on my childe's feet. Then I turn and rinse my mouth, take the appropriated can of cream and spray it out into my hands. Shaving is not my favorite chore, mostly because I can't use a mirror, and having Spike smirking at me the whole time makes me all the more nervous I've missed something important.

"Your turn," I tell him, shoving the can and razor into his hands. He looks at me, almost bemused, and his expression clearly says, 'And _what_ planet did you come from, mate?'

"I'm NOT using your poofy shaving cream, Angelus."

I roll my eyes. "Fine. But if you don't shave, I'm not kissing you anymore."

"Who says I need any shaving cream to shave with?"

"If you cut yourself, I might not be able to resist biting you."

He leers at me. "And who thinks that would be a bad thing?"

I grin back, and bare my fangs briefly for him to see. "Everybody on the planet besides you and me, but since we're the only ones in the shower, I guess nobody who actually matters."

He returns the grin, and shoves me in an attempt to get under the water. "Damn right," he replies, and then he dunks his head in the streams beating down on us and stays there until he's convinced his skin is wet enough.

When he brings his head out of the water, he grins at me, and starts to run the razor slowly down his cheeks, chin and neck. At first he's careful, but then he gets overconfident and his hand moves faster, causing the first cut. I flash my fangs at him again, but remain where I am.

He grins, and continues to shave. By the time he's done, he's cut himself no less than five times, and I'm salivating for a taste of his blood, almost mourning the drops that are washed away by the hot streams of water and wasted. He steps closer to me, as close as he can get, and lifts his head to expose the cuts, which are mostly on his neck. "I think you said something about not being able to resist me if I cut myself," he says with a cheeky grin.

I dip my head almost faster than a human eye can follow, and lap at the cuts quickly, but vampire healing interferes and they close before I can get more than a couple of drops from each. Using one hand, I pull Spike's head to the side and bite down hard, piercing his jugular with hardly any effort. He cries out with the initial bite, and as I suck the sluggish, thick fluid from the holes, he moans and tries to grind himself against me.

His blood is hot from the shower, and it tastes so, so good, I don't want to stop feeding, but if I don't, he'll get weak from the loss. Reluctantly, I pull away from the cuts, and he cries out again, this time in despair. 

"Angelus!"

I shake my head. "You need to eat," I tell him. "I can see you getting pale."

"I'm a bloody vampire. I'm supposed to be pale." 

I refrain from rolling my eyes at him. "Pale as a relative term, then. And I'm not arguing with you about it."

"Actually, you are." He smirks. 

I heave a sigh. God, he's insufferable. I want to, I don't know, swat him or something. But that will only make him worse, so instead, I reach around his body and turn the water abruptly off. He yelps a little, and glares at me, but doesn't speak, which, with Spike, is always a good thing. Well, maybe not always, but ninety-nine percent of the time.

I step out of the shower and grab a towel, roughly drying myself off before I step out of the way and hand the other towel to my childe. He takes it wordlessly, and dries himself without complaint, but I notice he's certain to smear a rather large amount of blood that will never come out on my nice, new, clean, white towel.

We leave the bathroom, both more than a little frustrated, but clean and clothed, and head downstairs. Gunn and Wesley have joined the girls, and Cordelia's death glare, this time aimed at my childe, could kill a person if they weren't already dead. But apparently she hasn't told the guys, because they don't immediately jump on me about it as soon as they spot us coming down the stairs. Instead, Wesley motions for me to come over to the table, which I do, and starts to explain about the demons.

"Ah, Angel. Good, you're here. The demons that Cordelia saw in larval form all over the girl's body appear to be nothing more than scavengers." I frown, but nod, wondering why the Powers That Be sent a vision about scavenger demons. Wes answers that in his next sentence, though.

"They do, however, grow extraordinarily large, and if there isn't enough... fresh meat for them to eat, they are not adverse to killing to eat."

I nod again. "So, did you take them out?"

He points to Gunn, who's rather sullenly polishing his battle-ax in the corner of the room. "Indeed we did. Unfortunately, the creatures emit a most foul substance when stabbed..." He, Cordy and Gunn all wrinkle their noses as they remember.

"Okay. So we're done with this case?"

Wesley nods. "It appears so, though I suppose we should keep an eye out for any other sightings, since they were rather small and it wasn't possible to be certain we killed them all."

This has got to have been the shortest case in AI history. The Powers must be _really_ bored up there, to be sending us this.

I leave Wes to search for Fred, and find her and Connor in the kitchen, fixing a meal. It seems a little late for lunch, and much too early for dinner, but I've learned not to ask what goes on in the kitchen. I don't eat it, I don't get to complain about it, which, by the way, is Cordelia's rule, not mine.

"Good afternoon!" 'Psychic-Girl,' as Spike insists on calling her, greets me, bouncing Connor on one hip. "Would you like to visit with him?" She nods her head to the side, indicating my son.

"Sure." She turns away from the stove so that I can take him from her one-armed grip, and then goes back to stirring. "He doesn't get in the way, like that?" I ask.

She shrugs. "Sometimes, of course. He's only a baby. But he just likes to be held so much more than that baby seat... I can't resist." She gives me one of those totally-Fred grins, and coos at Connor for a moment.

"Yeah, you like having Daddy up, don't you, honey?" She asks in a high, baby-talk voice. I smile, and am about to say something when the kitchen door swings open, slams into the wall and Spike thuds in, remarkably loudly for a creature of such natural grace.

"Where's the blood?!"

"The same place it always is, Spike."

He grins. "I know. I just couldn't resist riling you up." He pulls the container from the refrigerator and pours some of the thick liquid into a mug. It's one of the mugs marked for use by the humans only, but I don't mention it. Spike will do what Spike will do, and if I complain, he'll only do it _more_ often.

"I'm glad I'm so irresistible."

He cocks his head and smirks at me. "Think I'm the one that's irresistible, Peaches." He takes a finger, licks it, and runs it down the side of his neck, his posture oozing sensuality.

"William!" I check to make sure Fred isn't watching. She isn't, but there's a little smile on her face that says she saw something, and I groan. She won't tell, but I was hoping to keep this between Spike and I, at least for now. And I guess Cordy, since she can't seem to learn the concept of a doorbell.

"What?" He asks innocently, and I thwap him on the back of the head lightly as I leave the kitchen. God, he's a pain in the ass.

A good pain in the ass, though.

* * *

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

* * *

Back to _A Little Part of the Buffiverse_

Back to _A Little Part of the Buffiverse_ Fanfic


	8. Chapter Eight

* * *

****

Not Invincible

by

Princess McPhee

* * *

Disclaimer: Not mine. Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt aren't me. Not even the right gender. So, therefore, I don't own.

Author's Note: Ideas from just about every Angel or Spike fic on the planet. So, if an idea very closely resembles yours, please don't take offense.

Chapter Note: Okay! This is it, folks. The final chapter. Sorry it took so long, but... yeah, I don't really have an excuse, it just did. But it's over, now. There is, however, a sequel in the works, so review and let me know if you'd like to see it. Thanks to all the fans I've gathered working on this piece.

Summary: Spike goes to Angel, after Buffy beats up on him the latest time. ('Dead Things') AU from there.

Rating: R

* * *

Chapter Eight

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The days seem to get shorter as Spike settles in, and I go to a place of contentment unusual for me. I've been here before, with Buffy, but it seems like so long ago... it's odd to have it back.

Cordelia worries that I don't think enough about my soul, but really, it's on my mind every minute of the day. So far, Spike and I have limited our sexual encounters to cheering each other up when we're upset-- but it's getting harder with every passing day. He's actually been good about not being deliberately provocative, but he's Spike. He oozes sex with every breath that he doesn't actually need to take.

Connor gets bigger every day, and I think Spike is falling in love with him. More often that not, when they're together, Spike is talking baby-talk and Connor is cooing and laughing his little baby laugh. Wesley even commented that they look good together. Spike did say that he liked Dawn. I think maybe he genuinely likes children.

A few weeks after our last talk about him staying, he disappeared again. I worried all night long, but didn't go out after him. I needed to show him my trust, and he was a big vampire, as Cordelia put it. Sure enough, he was back five minutes before sunrise, covered in demon blood and high on the fight. I cleaned him up and put him to bed, and from then on, he's been leaving periodically to fight demons on random nights.

He needs the release-- Spike always did need violence in his life. Now that he can't attack humans, it's carried over to what he can attack. He refuses adamantly to come with me and the rest of AI on our patrols, though. I'm not sure if he's more afraid Gunn will put a stake through his heart when he's not looking, or I'll get the 'wrong impression' that he's a white hat. I tend to think it's the latter. Spike likes to kill demons, but he does it for the kill. He doesn't do it because it's the right thing to do, and he doesn't want me to ever forget that.

Rarely do we go out on the same nights, but it's been known to happen. Not during regular patrol, because then somebody has to stay home with Connor, but sometimes if Spike disappears and I have a similar need to destroy something, I'll leave Connor with one of my partners and disappear in the opposite direction. I haven't run into Spike yet, but I suppose it was bound to happen, sooner or later.

"Well, hello, mate." He saunters out of the alley where he was crouching, ready to pounce on whoever went by next, and kisses me quickly. "What are you doing out here?"

I shrug. "Blowing off steam. Didn't know I'd run into you."

He smirks. "Yeah, I figured, by the surprised look in your eye when you caught my scent."

Well, that's good. At least Spike doesn't think I was following him because I don't trust him, or something. 

"Wasn't counting on running into you," I tell him honestly.

He continues to smirk. "Yeah. Said that already, Peaches." He takes off down the sidewalk, his movements the stalk of a predator, confident in its superiority. I follow him.

"Is it okay if I join you for tonight?" I ask, unsure of my welcome on his little informal patrols.

He nods, and looks at me. "Always welcome, Angel. Just not the rest of your little crew."

Curious, my brow furrows. "Why?" I ask.

"Can't keep up. Get in the way. Don't want a stake shoved through my back." I also hear what he doesn't say-- _if you're alone then you're just another guy, blowing off steam. If you're with your crew, you're a white hat on a mission._

He continues. "Learned a long time ago not to go patrolling with humans. Always ends badly."

I feel compelled to defend the rest of the AI group, but there's no fire in my voice as I respond. "They can take care of themselves."

He shrugs. "Sure. They probably can. But they're not fighters, Angel. They can protect themselves, maybe get in an occasional lucky shot. Maybe your boy Gunn has more than that. It's different, though. We're predators. We have the sight, the hearing, the gut instinct..."

I nod, understanding more than I wish I did. "I know."

A cruel smile carves its way across Spike's face, and he drops into an unconscious battle stance. "Like... right now." Something big, blue and ugly drops from the roof of the building in front of us onto the sidewalk and bares its claws, and Spike grins and dashes towards it, body moving in a spinning kick before he even reaches the creature.

I merely watch him for a moment, stunned by the precision with which Spike fights. He's very light on his feet, and his size makes him faster than me. The movements he executes are almost too quick to follow, and he has the blue thing on its back in less than a minute. Pulling his sword from the sheath on his back, he grins and slams it home, then looks up at me, breathing hard.

"What, didn't want to get your froofy silk shirt gunky, Peaches?" He asks.

I smile and shake my head, knowing not to take his insults too seriously by now. "Just watching you work."

He leers. "Like what you saw?"

I nod slowly. "A little more than is good for either one of us."

The smirk drops from his face as he contemplates another night of him and his right hand. I'm disappointed, too, but it's not as bad as being alone. That's the one thing we permit ourselves-- watching each other jerk off, and it's better than nothing.

He shrugs. "Comes with dating a cursed guy, I guess. You'd think I'd have better taste."

I shrug back. "You'd think so."

He looks at me with genuine love and affection in his eyes, and I cross the distance between us in three broad steps. "I love you, William." He doesn't respond except to raise his head and receive my kiss, and we stand there for a few long moments after our lips have separated, just looking into each others' eyes.

A quick movement in the corner of my vision keys me back into hunting mode instantly, and I tense. Spike feels it and pulls away, turning slowly to assess the situation. As soon as he sees what we're facing, the sword he dropped earlier is in his hand, and his casual on guard pose is elevated to a tense, hyper-alert state of readiness.

The creature looks the same as the one I just watched Spike slay, and I stand ready to fight it, if it's come to avenge its mate. I've fought many, many demons that weren't happy about me killing their significant others, and the most savage demon is truly one who has just lost something dear to it.

At first, though, the blue thing seems peaceful. Moaning in a low, anguished tone, it walks up to its departed companion and drops to its knees. Bowing its head, it touches the slashed body of the first demon, making low noises of pain in the back of its throat. I almost feel sorry for it, but then I remember that the first demon jumped out at Spike-- there wasn't anything self-defense-like about it.

Suddenly, the thing straightens, and turns to face us, the low moans become growls. I back up, pulling Spike with me. He doesn't fight, for once in his unlife, and we retreat until we are clear of the alley. No use in fighting boxed-in, when there's this whole nice street to battle a blue demon in full public view on. Luckily, there are few people out at this hour, and I don't see any in the immediate area.

Apparently the thing can smell the blood of its mate on Spike, or maybe it just took an instant dislike to him, I don't know, but it lunges first at my childe. Spike is small and sometimes lacks the brawn necessary for really large jobs-- but he's quick and he can fight like nothing else. He doesn't even have to move very quickly to duck under the slashing claws coming at us.

I let the claws pass me by, too, and grab the wrist of the demon thing as it rears back to strike again. Reaching back over my head, I unsheathe the sword quickly and make a jab at the center of the creature. I hit my target-- but it doesn't seem to do anything but make the thing mad. As it moves to hit me with the other set of claws, I have to let go of the one I was holding onto so that I can duck the new swing.

Suddenly, it rears up and yells. Spike, idiot childe that he is, has jumped on the back of the thing and is wrestling it like that crocodile hunter on the television show I will never admit I've watched. He's grinning madly and has one arms around the thing's throat, while he gears up to make a strike at its relatively unprotected belly, exposed by the beast's arms being busy trying to knock my childe off its neck.

The thing lurches forward towards me, and I drop back into a battle stance as Spike swings the sword wildly and misses more than he hits. The glancing blows he deals are no accidents-- he's playing with his prey. But right now, I have more to worry about than the fact that my childe is taking out his more sadistic tendencies on the demons he eventually kills.

Grabbing for me, it just barely misses, and I duck under huge meaty arms, beating a hasty retreat. "Spike!" It's a warning to him that it's time to get serious, and the message seems to get through, because he lets go of the huge blue neck he's been holding tenaciously onto all this time, and swings his sword in front of him.

He grins at me, and I scowl. "Spike," I growl, but he just grins.

"Later, Peaches. Right now, there's a huge-ass ugly blue wanker that's just asking to be skewered." With that, he makes a headlong dash for the thing's back, sword firmly in front of him.

I sigh, and for an instant, my guard drops. Moving faster than I thought it could, the thing grabs at me. Searing pain erupts across my chest and stomach, and I double over for a second. Seeing that it's weakened me, the blue beast moves to him me again.

Spike brings his sword down on the thing's arm, and it cleanly severs. I stand up once more, nodding to him to indicate that I'm alright, and he nods back. The thing is clutching the stump of its arm in agony, but it clearly isn't done for, yet, and it comes at us once again.

I see Spike start to circle behind it, and as it can't seem to decide where to look, I bend my knees and start to move my sword towards it. Taking me as the more immediate danger, it focuses its total attention on me, letting Spike make the critical fatal move.

Unfortunately, the thing is also stronger than it has let on so far, and it swipes the sword out of my hand in one blow from the remaining arms. Then it comes at me, claws extended, and plunges the sharp things into my stomach instead of just raking them across like last time.

Spike makes the killing blow at the back of the thing's head then, and it drops dead. Unfortunately, its claws are still in me, and as it falls over backwards, yanking them from my wounded flesh, I groan in agony and collapse. Spike is by my side in an instant.

"Angel? Angel, are you okay?"

My vision is blurry from the pain, but it's coming slowly back. It hurts like hell, but I'll be okay, since I seem to still have my head and heart. I try to nod, but break it off abortively, wincing.

Spike sees my effort to communicate, and relaxes minutely. "Alright. Don't try to talk right now, I think you probably punctured a lung. Just lie still until you feel you can, okay?"

Vampire blood is thick, and coagulates faster. That, in turn, means that we clot much faster, and then scab much faster than humans. As long as the blow dealt to my lung isn't huge, it will close over within a couple of minutes.

Spike sits with me as I try to master the pain. It's not that I couldn't move if I had to-- I've relocated despite worse pain than this, but Spike's not about to let me, and with him here to protect me, there's no reason to. Not until the pain subsides a bit, at least.

After a few minutes, I take a short breath, testing it out. There's a sharp pain in my stomach when my lungs fill with air and displace the scabbing wounds, but I wince and continue through it. "I'm okay, Spike."

He nods. "Yeah. Lie still, okay?" He fishes a cell phone out of his pocket and flips it on. Dialing somebody, he waits.

"Yeah. Cordy, it's me." Pause. "Angel's hurt." Another pause, and this time I can hear something loud from the speaker of the phone. "Naw, he'll be okay. Can you send somebody with a car to get us, though?"

Apparently Cordy can send the vehicle, because Spike says good-bye and hangs up a moment later, after relaying our address and confirming to her once more, that yes, I will live.

We only sit there for a few moments before Gunn and Wes pull up with my convertible. Spike heaves me to my feet as soon as he sees them coming around the corner, and we walk slowly to the curb, arriving just as they get there. Gunn steps out of the passenger seat and Spike settles me painfully in, then he and Gunn climb into the rear.

"Hey, you okay man?" Gunn asks, and I nod slightly.

"I'll be fine. You've seen how fast I heal."

When we arrive at the hotel, Cordy and Fred are waiting, the latter with my son in her hands. "Angel?" Cordy asks.

Spike, exasperated, rolls his eyes. "Yes, he'll be fine. No, he's not fine at the moment. Go get the first-aid kit, will you?"

Not even taking the time to snark back at Spike like she usually would, Cordelia disappears into the bathroom where we keep the first-aid kit. When she comes back, she and Spike clean the wounds as best as they're able to and bandage them. Spike's frowning as he sits back on his heels, though, and I question.

"What's wrong?"

Spike shakes his head. "Those wounds will take a while to heal. They're deep, Angel."

I groan. "I know. I can feel them."

"I want you lying down, flat on your back, for a day." His tone is somewhere in-between ordering and asking, and he has concern in his eyes. I roll mine.

"Spike, I get hurt a lot. I'll know when I can be up again."

Cordy chimes in, there. "No you don't! You're always going out again and re-opening things!" Her tone softens. "Listen to him, Angel. For your son. You can't be going out and fighting at half-strength, you might not come back."

I sigh, and nod. "Okay. Okay. One day, flat on my back. For Connor." I look at my childe. "And Spike."

He grins. "And three days home."

I sigh again. "Fine."

"And no going out alone for a week."

"Don't push it."

He laughs. "Yeah, alright. I'll be happy with what I've managed to get." He offers a hand and I pull myself up on his strong arm, draping mine over his shoulder.

The walk up the stairs is painful and slow, and at least a couple of the wounds reopen, but I've insisted that if I'm going to be lying down for a whole day, it be on a bed, not a couch, and where I can keep and eye on Connor at night.

Spike sighs in frustration as we sit down on the edge of the bed and he sees the red stripes crossing the bandages. "Sit. Stay." He orders, and disappears, probably to get the first-aid kit.

When he comes back, he re-does the bandages and lays me down on the bed, offering, amazingly out of character as it is for him, to get me anything I need. I shake my head. "I'm fine, Spike. I get wounded all the time, it'll heal."

He nods, and I see something in his eyes that I can't quite identify. "I know."

"Come sleep with me?"

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Spike, you sleep like the dead. No pun intended. But honestly, you never move in your sleep."

He nods. "Yeah. Okay. I'll get Connor put to bed, and then I'll come lay down, okay?"

I nod, and he disappears out the door again.

When did my childe turn into this responsible vampire that I'm sure he would have hated just a few weeks ago?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I sleep all of the first night and into the morning, thanks to Fred taking Connor downstairs when he wakes up at six-thirty. Spike, true to form, is draped all over me when I awake around eleven. I only told a teeny fib last night because I wanted him to sleep in the bed with me... it's not horribly wrong, is it? And what the hell do I _care_ if it's wrong for?

I lie silently in the bed for quite a while before Spike stirs. He opens his eyes groggily and takes in his position, then rolls off me. "Sorry, mate."

"It's fine."

He narrows his eyes as he wakes up a little. "Hey, didn't you tell me that I don't move in my sleep?"

I shrug. "I told a little white lie to get you to stay. Is that so bad?" From the eyes that narrow even further and the lines that criss-cross his brow, you'd think so.

I sigh. "You didn't hurt me, I promise." I pull down the covers and show him the bandages, still white, on my stomach and chest. "I wanted you here."

He nods slowly, accepting at last. "Yeah, okay." The tension leaves his body and he snuggles up to my side, albeit much more carefully than usual. "How are you?"

"Fine. I'll be good as new in a couple days, and they're already entirely scabbed over."

There's a knock on the door then, and I sit up a little, ignoring Spike's protests. "Come in!"

Cordy opens the door and almost immediately averts her gaze. "Put a shirt on, Angel!"

I laugh. "It didn't bother you last night," I point out.

"You were all bleeding and in need of help last night!" She says indignantly. "It's different now that you're not getting blood all over everything and moaning in pain."

I take the shirt Spike hands me and pull it over my head painfully. "Alright. I'm covered, Cordy."

She turns back and continues as if we'd never had our little disagreement about what constituted 'covered,' and points a finger at us. "Your son won't shut up," She tells me.

"Cordy!"

"What? It's true."

I roll my eyes. "Well, we're awake. You want to bring him up here so we can see if he just wants to visit with Spike or me?"

She frowns, and settles into a thinking pose. "Are you sure you want your son to see you in bed with another vampire?"

"Cordy!"

"What?"

"He's five months old. It won't scar him because he'll have no idea that what he's looking at is anything other than totally typical, and he won't even remember it by the time he turns two."

She _hmmphs_. "Well, if you want to be all logical, Mr. Vulcan..."

Spike laughs, and I frown. "Cordy, I have no idea who you're talking about." She opens her mouth to explain, and I continue right over the top of her. "And I don't really want to know. Can I see my son?"

Stomping a little, she disappears to get Connor.

Spike grins at me. "You did sound a little like Mr. Spock, oh Soulful one."

"Spike. I don't watch television, remember? You've been yelling at me about it since you got here. I have no idea who Mr. Spock is."

Spike shrugs. "Well, you know he was on television. That's a start."

I raise an eyebrow, not believing Spike is going to leave it at that, but so far, he does. Cordy appears in the doorway with Connor, crying weakly. He sounds like he's tired himself out.

When she sets him in my arms, he opens his eyes to see who it is and then goes right back to crying. I rock him and shush him and talk to him, but it's to no avail. Spike leans over and takes him and tries everything I did, then gets up and starts to pace with him, something that usually works, but he still cries.

Exasperated, Spike returns to the bed to sit next to me, and looks down at his 'brother.' "You're just not going to be quiet, are you?" He asks, and Connor screws up his face and wails louder.

I sigh. "Put him down on the bed. Maybe he's just tired."

Spike scrunches his face in a look remarkably similar to my son's. "Are you sure he'll be okay on the bed? The blankets could smother him."

I nod. "He'll be fine. We're both here to keep an eye on him."

Reluctantly, Spike lays him down on the sheet in between us and pulls the covers away from him to make sure he doesn't suffocate. I lean back on the pillows and turn slowly onto my better side-- I don't really have a good side at the moment, but one can actually be lain on at the moment, while the other can't-- and pull his tiny body to my chest.

Spike lies down on Connor's other side and we both close our eyes, hoping, I think, that he will just decide to fall asleep and shut up.

Amazingly, he does just that. I open my eyes, surprised at the sudden quiet, and find myself looking into Spike's shockingly blue ones. Both of us turn our eyes to the infant, who is now lying contentedly on his back, eyes half-closed in a doze. I am pressed up against him gently on one side, and Spike has rested a delicate hand on his stomach.

After a moment, his eyelids fall all the way shut, and we both watch as his breathing evens out into sleep. Spike looks back up at me and grins. "Will you look at that?" He says. "Lil' Nip just wanted his daddies."

He realizes what he said a moment later.

"I mean, his daddy. And his big brother, who is going to be referred to as an uncle as soon as he gets old enough to talk." He's uncomfortable, and talking too fast.

I wait in the silence for a moment, my mind racing. Do I want to encourage Spike to think of my son as his, too? I know I want him to stay, but he's always had a rather mercurial personality-- there's no guarantee how long he can stand Los Angeles, regardless of how much he loves us. Will Connor grow attached to him, only to lose him when he decides there isn't enough for him here? And most importantly-- can I share that position in my son's life?

A sudden clarity descends on me. I realize that whether I encourage it or not, Spike _will_ consider Connor a son. It's clear that he already does. And though he has a restless nature, when my childe makes attachments, he makes them fully. He stayed with Drusilla for a hundred and twenty years-- if he truly loves Connor, he will never betray him.

And if I don't let Spike call Connor his son, will it really make any difference to the boy when he gets older? If I let Spike become a fixture in Connor's life, will it really hurt him less if he doesn't have the title 'daddy' if he decides to walk out? I don't think so.

But can I share that position in Connor's life? Can I give up being the only parent Connor has, the most important person in his life? The only one who has a biological claim to this child?

I take a deep, unnecessary breath and look over at my older childe, who is avoiding my eyes. "Spike?"

He looks up, trying to mask the confusion and hurt behind his eyes with a facade, but I see right through it. "Yes?"

"It would be an honor if you want to consider Connor your son."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There's silence for a few long moments, then Spike nods slowly. "Okay."

That's all I need to hear, and I smile. "Okay."

Spike looks over at me, at the bandages covering my body, and frowns a little. "You need feeding. And sleep."

"I just woke up, Spike."

"You're injured. Sleep is healing." He doesn't look ready to relent anytime soon, and suddenly, I am kind of tired.

I yawn a little, and he grins. "Let me get some blood for you, and then you can take a nap, okay?"

I nod. "Thanks."

He disappears, and I content myself with just watching Connor sleep while he's gone. The miracle that is my son never fades in my eyes-- he's just such an amazing accomplishment that sometimes I can't take my eyes off of him. I wonder if it will still feel like this years from now.

Somehow, I think it will.

Spike returns with the blood, warm from the microwave, and I scoot up the bed until I'm sitting enough to drink it. I have to be careful not to break contact with Connor, though, because I think he would start screaming. He's already sleeping less deeply since Spike took his hand off him.

Once I've downed all the blood, which, as usual, tastes horrible, but will sustain me and help me recover, if nothing else, I put it down on the bedside table. Curling up around Connor again, I look up at Spike. "What are you going to do while we sleep?" I ask.

He smiles. "I'll find something." He settles himself in a chair next to the bed, and I know what he's going to do. Sometimes I can't keep myself from just sitting and watching the people I love, either.

I return the smile warmly. "Okay." I close my eyes, and I can feel his gaze on me and my son. From anyone else, it would feel at the very least, strange, and probably severely distracting, but from Spike, it just feels comforting.

He's watching over us, I realize, and that's what makes it feel so comfortable. He's watching over us and making sure that nothing happens to us while we sleep. He's sitting there to ward off the demons of our nightmares and the demons of our reality. He's playing protector.

Connor snorts in his sleep, and I smile as I feel my consciousness drift off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two hours later, I awaken again, moving slowly back towards wakefulness, and then glance over at the clock. One-thirty. I yawn and raise my head, looking for Spike and Connor, but they are nowhere to be found. Reluctantly, I lay back down, remembering my promise to Spike, and pick up the book he's so thoughtfully placed on the table to keep me company.

It's barely been twenty minutes by the time I'm fidgeting too hard to stay still. Groaning a little as the movements pull on some of the not-quite-healed wounds, I stand and pull a pair of pants on. I'm still wearing the shirt from earlier, and once I'm covered up, I heard downstairs.

Spike catches me halfway across the lobby. "Angel! You're not supposed to be up." He frowns at my disobedience, but seems to know it's a moot point.

I shrug. "Bed got boring. I promise I won't do any heavy lifting or exercising, okay?"

Reluctantly, he nods. "Sit down, and let me take a look at those, though?"

I sit down on the couch, and he fetches the first-aid kit. Honestly, I don't know why we bother keeping a little box full of bandages and peroxide when we go through a refrigerator-sized box at least every month, but that's Cordy's domain. And believe me when I say you do not want to cross Queen C.

Taking the bandages carefully off my stomach, he probes gently at the wounds. I wince, but sit still, having a fair amount of experience in being poked like this. "The prognosis, Doctor William?" I ask.

He smiles. "The scratches are healed, just new skin to see. The puncture wounds are closing, but they'll take a while longer before they're actually there." He picks up the hydrogen peroxide and wets a swab, then makes a cursory sweep over the healing wounds. It stings a little around the edges of a couple of the punctures, but for the most part I can't feel it, which is a good sign, since it means the skin is closed, whether by new skin or scabbing.

Spike looks up. "Can you feel that?"

I shake my head. "Barely."

He nods. "Good. But I don't want you thinking you can do anything yet, okay? These wounds could still break open, and then you'd be right back where you started."

I roll my eyes a little. "I promised."

Spike grins. "I know. But you promised to stay in bed, too, and look at all the good that did." He isn't really upset, but he is serious about me sticking to his instructions, this time.

"William, I promised!"

Cordy walks into the room, then, carrying Connor and shaking her head. "God, I think he's more overprotective than me," she comments.

"There's no 'think' involved," I tell her, grinning. "You'd be letting me fight already, and he won't even let me lift anything."

Cordy rolls her eyes and snorts. "That's just because he can take care of himself. He'd have you up and fighting if his unlife depended on it, too."

Spike smirks. "Why, Cordelia, have you become a vampire since I last saw you?" He sniffs the air and shakes his head. "Nope. Vampires smell less."

She gives him her patented glare of death, and puts the hand she's not using to hold Connor on her hip. "Well, they certainly smell less _pleasant. _And you know what I meant, Captain Peroxide."

My lover shakes his head, mock-sadly. "Cordy, Cordy, Cordy. It's becoming obvious who you dated in high school, even if I didn't already know."

"What?"

Spike grins. "The Whelp already called me that. Sorry to take away your originality."

Cordy's glare gets even hotter, if that's possible, and she stalks out of the room. Though all of this, I've been trying to maintain a poker face, but now I let the corner of my lips turn up at my peroxided-childe's antics.

"William, try not to bother Cordy, huh?" We both know he'll just ignore me, but I have to say something. It's the effort that counts.

Spike smirks, and then pouts. "But it's just so much fun!"

I grin. "I know. But Cordy'll kill me if she finds out I said that," I warn.

The playful mood vanishes from Spike as quickly as it came. His eyes flash to my wounds as I mention killing, and the sparkle is just gone from his bright blue eyes. Sitting down next to me, he looks at the floor like he's going to say something, and he's not sure how I'll take it.

"Will?" I prompt gently.

"I'm scared," he blurts out.

"Scared of what?" It's not exactly the first thing I expected to hear out of his mouth, but I think I can understand why he would be.

"This." He gestures wildly around us. "The commitment I made to you and the Little Nip."

I smile gently. "You made that commitment in love, Will. Do you _want_ to leave?"

He shakes his head. "No. But you know me." He smiles ruefully. "I'm scared that someday I might want to."

"And not be able to?"

He nods.

"William, you made a commitment to me and Connor in love. If there comes a time when you want to leave, maybe it means you should go. You're not bound to us by anything except your own love."

He smiles, and leans on me, resting his head on my shoulder. I wince involuntarily and then try to cover it, but he notices and jerks back. "You okay?"

I nod. "I just pulled on a scab a little. I'm fine."

He smirks. "Things around here really have changed, haven't they," he muses.

"What do you mean?"

"This." He motions at me. "I came here and you took care of me. Now I'm taking care of you."

I smile, and kiss his forehead. "This is what functional relationships are about, Will. Taking care of each other."

He smirks. "Or so you hear."

I grin. "Or so I hear."

* * *

[Previous Chapter]

* * *

Back to _A Little Part of the Buffiverse_

Back to _A Little Part of the Buffiverse_ Fanfic


End file.
